LINDA  LEE  INC. 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 
JOAN  THURSDAY 
ALIAS  THE  LONE  WOLF 
RED  MASQUERADE 
THE  DARK  MIRROK 
THE  FALSE  FACES 
SHEEP'S  CLOTHING 
THE  LONE  WOLF 
THE  DAY  OF  DAYS 
NOBODY 

THE  DESTROYING  ANGEL 
THE  BANDBOX 
CYNTHIA-OF-THE- MINUTE 
THE  FORTUNE  HUNTER 
No  MAN'S  LAND 
THE  POOL  OF  FLAME 
THE  BRONZE  BELL 
THE  BLACK  BAG 
THE  BRASS  BOWL 
TERENCE  O'RouRKE 


LINDA  LEE 

INCORPORATED 


A  Novel 


Louis  JOSEPH  VANCE 


NEW  YORK 

E.  P.  BUTTON  &  COMPANY 
681  FIFTH  AVENUE 


Copyright  1921-1922 

By 
Louis  JOSEPH  VANCE 

THE  COAST  OF  COCKAIGNE 
Copyright  1922 

By 

THE  McCALL  COMPANY 

All    rights    reserved    including    those    of    translation 
into    foreign    languages,    including    the    Scandinavian 


To 

HARRY  PAYNE  BURTON 
because  he  made  me  write  it 


2033018 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE 

There  are  no  portraits  of  living  persons  in  the  fol- 
lowing pages. 

The  incidents  related  in  illustration  of  present-day 
methods  of  motion-picture  production  are,  on  the  other 
hand,  with  one  minor  exception,  drawn  from  first-hand 
observation  in  the  California  studios. 

Under  the  title  of  THE  COAST  OF  COCKAIGNE, 
an  abridged  version  of  this  story  was  published 
serially,  during  the  Winter  of  1921-22,  in  McCall's 
Magazine. 

Louis  JOSEPH  VANCE 
Darien,  20  January,  1922. 


LINDA  LEE  INC. 


Linda  Lee  Inc. 


"A  /TRS-  BELLAMY  DRUCE !  Rather  a  mouthful. 
'  IVl  that." 

"Is  that  why  you  make  a  face  over  it?" 

"Didn't  expect  me  to  relish  it,  did  you,  Cinda  ?" 

"I'm  afraid  I  wasn't  thinking  of  you  at  all,  Dobbin, 
when  I  took  it." 

"Meaning,  if  you  had  been,  you  might  have  thought 
twice  before  taking?" 

"No  fear :  I  was  much  too  madly  in  love  with  Bel." 

"Was?" 

"Dobbin!" 

"Sorry — didn't  mean  to  be  impertinent." 

"I  don't  believe  you.  Still,  I'm  so  fond  of  you,  I'll 
forgive  you — this  once." 

"Won't  have  to  twice.  I  only — well,  naturally,  I 
wanted  to  know  whether  or  not  it  had  taken." 

"Taken?" 

"Your  matrimonial  inoculation." 

"I  think  one  may  safely  say  it  has.  I've  grown  so  old 
and  wise  in  marriage,  it  really  seems  funny  to  remember 
I  was  ever  an  innocent." 

"Four  years " 

"Going  on  five." 

"It's  seemed  a  long  time  to  me,  too,  Cinda — five  years 
since  these  eyes  were  last  made  glad  by  the  sight  of  you." 
1 


2  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

"At  least,  time  hasn't  impaired  your  knack  at  pretty 
speeches." 

"Nor  your  power  to  inspire  them." 

"I'm  not  so  sure.  To  myself  I  seem  ever  so  much 
older."  Lucinda  Druce  turned  full  face  to  the  man  on 
her  left,  anxiety  feigned  or  real  puckering  the  delicately 
pencilled  brows.  "Doesn't  it  show  at  all,  Dobbin,  the 
ruthless  march  of  advancing  years  ?" 

The  man  narrowed  critically  his  eyes  and  withheld  his 
verdict  as  if  in  doubt;  but  a  corner  of  his  mouth  was 
twitching. 

"You  are  lovelier  today  than  ever,  lovelier  even  than 
the  memories  of  you  that  have  quickened  my  dreams " 

"All  through  these  years?  How  sweet — and  what 
utter  tosh!  You  know  perfectly  well  your  heart  hasn't 
been  true  to  Poll " 

"Unfortunately,  the  damn'  thing  has.  Oh,  I'm  not 
pretending  I  didn't  do  my  level  best  to  forget,  tried  so 
hard  I  thought  I  had  won  out.  But  it  only  needed  this 
meeting  tonight  to  prove  that  the  others  were  merely 
anodynes  for  a  pain  that  rankled  on,  as  mortal  hurts  do 
always,  'way  down  beneath  the  influence  of  the  opiate." 

"Truly,  Dobbin,  you've  lost  nothing  of  your  ancient 
eloquence.  That  last  speech  quite  carried  me  back  to  the 
days  when,  more  than  once,  you  all  but  talked  me  off  my 
feet  and  into  your  arms." 

"Pity  I  ever  stopped  talking." 

"I  wonder!" 

"You  wonder ?" 

"Whether  it's  really  a  pity  you  never  quite  succeeded 
in  talking  me  into  believing  I  loved  you  enough  to  marry 
you,  whether  we  wouldn't  all  have  been  happier,  you, 
Bel,  and  I." 

"Then  you  aren't  altogether " 

"Hush !    I  haven't  said  so." 

"No ;  but  you've  had  time  to  find  out." 

"Perhaps    ..." 


LINDA  LEE   INC.  3 

"And  you  know  your  secrets  are  safe  with  me." 

"That's  why  I'm  going  to  say — what  I  am  going  to 
say." 

"O  Lord !  now  I  shall  catch  it." 

"Don't  be  afraid,  Dobbin,  I'm  not  going  to  scold.  But 
I  know  you  so  well,  how  direct  and  persistent  you  are — 
yes,  and  how  sincere — it's  only  fair  to  tell  you,  the  tradi- 
tions of  our  kind  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding,  I'm  still 
in  love  with  my  husband." 

For  a  moment  Richard  Daubeney  was  silent,  staring 
at  his  plate.  Then  he  roused  with  a  light-hearted  shrug 
and  smile. 

"And  that's  that!" 

Lucinda  nodded  with  amiable  emphasis :  "That's  that." 

The  black  arm  of  a  waiter  came  between  them,  and 
the  woman  let  an  abstracted  gaze  stray  idly  across  the 
shimmering  field  of  the  table,  while  the  man  at  her  side 
ceased  not  to  remark  with  glowing  appreciation  the  per- 
fection of  her  gesture,  at  once  so  gracious,  spirited,  and 
reserved. 

Never  one  to  wear  her  heart  on  her  sleeve,  Lucinda. 
Look  at  her  now :  Who  would  ever  guess  she  had  lived 
to  learn  much,  to  unlearn  more,  in  so  brief  a  term  of  mar- 
ried life?  Surely  the  sweet  lift  of  her  head,  the  shadowy 
smile  that  lurked  ever  about  her  lips,  the  exquisite  poise 
of  that  consummate  body  bespoke  neither  disillusionment 
nor  discontent.  And  who  should  say  the  dream  was  not 
a  happy  one  that  clouded  the  accustomed  clearness  of 
her  eyes? 

Unclouded  and  serene  once  more,  these  turned  again 
his  way. 

"It's  like  you,  Dobbin,  to  start  making  love  to  me  all 
over  again,  precisely  as  if  my  being  married  meant  noth- 
ing, in  the  first  minutes  of  our  first  meeting  in  five  years, 
without  offering  to  tell  me  a  single  thing  about  yourself." 

"Nothing  much  to  tell.  Everybody  knows,  when  you 
engaged  yourself  to  marry  Druce,  I  rode  off  to  the  wars. 


4  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

Oh,  for  purely  selfish  motives!    If  I'd  stayed,  I'd  have 
made  a  stupid  exhibition  of  myself  one  way  or  another, 
taken  to  drink  or  something  equally  idiotic.     So  vanity 
prompted  me  to  blaze  a  trail  across  the  waters  for  my 
beloved  country  to  follow  when  its  hour  struck." 
"And  when  the  war  was  over,  what  did  you  then  ?" 
"Knocked  about  a  bit  with  some  pals  I'd  picked  up." 
"We  heard  you'd  taken  up  ranching  in  the  Argentine, 
and  made  a  tidy  fortune." 

"I  didn't  do  badly,  that's  a  fact.  But  what  is  a  man 
profited  if  he  shall  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose  his  own 
soul?" 

"Please  don't  look  at  me  as  if  I  knew  the  answer." 
"It's  a  question  we've  all  got  to  face,  soon  or  late." 
"You  forget  the  life  one  leads :  a  studied  attempt  to  for- 
get that  such  a  question  ever  was  asked." 
"Find  it  succeeds  ?" 

"Only  part  of  the  time,  at  best.  But  is  one  to  under- 
stand you  lost  your  soul  in  the  Argentine?  It  sounds  so 
amusingly  immoral." 

"At  least  I  realized  down  there  my  soul  was  in  a  fair 
way  to  prove  a  total  loss.  We  were  rather  out  of  the 
world,  you  know,  away  back  from  anywhere;  so  I  had 
lots  of  time  to  think,  and  learned  I  hadn't  found  what 
I'd  gone  to  France  to  seek;  that  there'd  been  nothing 
really  elevating  or  heroic  about  the  war,  only  sound  and 
fury;  in  other  words  that,  when  all  was  said  and  done, 
you  were  all  that  had  ever  really  mattered.  So  I  sold  out 
and  shipped  for  home." 

"Hoping  to  find  me  unhappy  enough  with  Bel ?" 

"That's  unworthy  of  you,  Cinda.  No :  simply  to  be  in 
the  same  world  with  you." 

After  a  little  Mrs.  Bellamy  Druce  said  severely :  "Dob- 
bin, if  you  keep  on  that  tack,  you  will  make  me  cross  with 
you ;  and  that  wouldn't  be  nice,  when  I'm  so  glad  to  see 
you.  Let's  talk  about  anything  else.  How  does  New 
York  look  to  an  exile  of  long  standing  ?  Much  changed  ?" 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  5 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Skirts  and  morals  both  a  bit 
higher,  jazz  a  little  more  so,  Prohibition  just  what  one 
expected,  society  even  more  loosely  constituted — a  vast 
influx  of  new  people.  Time  was  when  it  would  have 
seemed  odd  to  see  a  strange  face  at  one  of  the  Sedley's 
dinners.  But  tonight — I  don't  know  half  these  people. 
Astonishing  lot  of  pretty  girls  seem  to  have  sprung  up 
since  my  time.  Who's  the  raving  beauty  on  Bill  Sedley's 
right?" 

"Amelie  Severn,  Amelie  Cleves  that  was  before  she 
married.  Surely  you  remember  her." 

Daubeney  stared  in  unaffected  wonder. 

"Good  heavens !  she  was  in  long  dresses  when  I  saw 
her  last." 

"Pretty  creature,  don't  you  think?" 

"Rather.  Can't  blame  the  chap  next  her  for  his  open 
infatuation." 

Laughter  thrilled  in  Lucinda's  reply :  "Why,  don't  you 
recognize  him?  That's  Bel." 

As  if  the  diminutive  pronounced  in  the  clear  accents 
of  his  wife  had  carried  through  the  murmur  of  talk,  Bel- 
lamy Druce  looked  up.  Perceiving  Lucinda's  smile  at 
the  end  of  an  aisle  of  shaded  lights,  he  smiled  in  turn, 
but  with  the  muscles  of  his  face  alone.  And  looking 
from  him  to  the  flushed  and  charming  countenance  of  the 
young  woman  on  his  left,  bending  low  over  her  plate  to 
hide  confusion  engendered  by  Bel's  latest  audacity,  Lu- 
cinda  thought,  with  a  faint  pang,  more  of  impatience  than 
of  jealousy :  He's  in  love  again. 


II 

WITH  a  small  sigh  of  animal  delight  in  the  caress 
of  fur  and  the  chill,  sweet  draught  from  the  open 
window  upon  her  face,  as  well  as  in  the  sense  of  effort- 
less power  animating  that  luxurious  fabric  which  the 
gods  had  so  thoughtfully  provided  for  her  ease,  Lucinda 
Druce  settled  back  in  the  town-car,  aware  yet  unmindful 
of  the  fluid  nocturne  of  Fifth  avenue,  a  still,  black  river 
streaming  beneath  the  car,  its  banks  of  soft  fire  strung 
with  linked  globes  of  milky  light,  its  burnished  surface 
scoured  by  the  fleet  gondolas  of  landsmen,  in  number 
beyond  counting,  skimming,  swooping,  stopping,  shoaling. 
Bel  had  asked  to  be  dropped  at  the  Brook,  alleging  a 
rendezvous  of  one  sort  or  another,  safely  masculine  of 
course.  Beyond  reflecting  that  Bel  was  in  all  likelihood 
lying,  Lucinda  had  paid  slight  heed  to  his  excuses.  It 
didn't  matter  whether  they  were  fair  or  false,  so  long  as 
he  wanted  to  do  whatever  it  was  he  wanted  to  do  with 
the  rest  of  his  evening.  She  had  little  faith  in  that  theory 
with  which  too  many  are  infatuate,  on  which  too  many 
marriages  are  wrecked,  that  affection  is  to  be  persuaded, 
that  loyalty  comes  of  being  made  to  toe  the  mark. 

Then,  too,  she  was  not  ill-pleased  with  having  herself 
all  to  herself,  in  this  thoughtful  mood  which  had  become 
hers  since  leaving  the  Sedleys',  not  an  unhappy  mood,  but 
one  curiously  mused.  Besides,  Bel  had  been  making  too 
free  with  the  Sedley  cellar.  Not  that  she  was  disposed  to 
hold  this  a  grievance,  thoroughgoing  mondaine  that  she 
was,  saturate  with  the  spirit  of  a  day  that  was  learning  to 
look  tolerantly  upon  intemperateness  as  a  fashionable 
form  of  protest  against  Prohibition.  No :  it  wasn't  that, 
6 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  7 

it  was  the  fact,  established  by  long  observation,  that 
Bel  seldom  drank  more  than  he  could  manage  gracefully 
unless  on  the  verge  of  some  new  gallantry.  A  little 
wearily,  Lucinda  wondered  why.  Bel  assuredly  didn't 
need  anything  to  stimulate  his  enterprise.  She  fancied 
it  must  be  that  alcohol  served  as  a  sort  of  anaesthetic 
for  his  conscience. 

She  had  a  smile  transiently  bitter.  Bel's  conscience! 
The  most  feather-headed,  irresponsible  of  philanderers, 
the  most  incorrigible;  between  whiles  the  most  con- 
trite .  .  . 

That,  she  supposed,  was  why  she  had  always  found  it 
in  her  heart  to  forgive  him,  why  she  had  never  expe- 
rienced any  real  pain  because  of  his  perennial  peccadilloes. 
He  couldn't  help  himself,  it  was  his  nature  so  to  do.  And 
somehow  or  other  she  always  found  him  out,  the  poor 
boy  was  singularly  unfortunate  in  his  efforts  to  keep  her 
in  the  dark,  singularly  clumsy  and  sanguine  at  one  and 
the  same  time.  Or  else  cynical.  Sometimes  she  was 
tempted  to  think  Bel  didn't  care,  or  thought  she  oughtn't 
to.  Often  his  attitude  seemed  to  be  posed  upon  the 
assumption  that  everybody  was  doing  it ;  so  why  affect:  a 
virtuous  eccentricity? 

On  the  other  hand,  his  fits  of  penitence  were  terribly 
real,  when  she  caught  him  misbehaving.  Or  was  that, 
too,  merely  part  of  the  game  with  Bel?  Was  it  just  a 
conventional  gambit  to  make-believe  repentance  and 
promise  faithfully  never,  never  to  be  naughty  again? 

A  disquieting  question  was  raised  by  the  circumstance 
that  she  seemed  to  be  taking  tonight's  discovery  less  to 
heart  than  ever  before.  Somehow  it  didn't  seem  to  matter 
so  much.  Was  she  growing  hardened,  then,  beginning  to 
care  less  for  Bel  than  she  had  always  cared?  Or  was 
it  ... 

Between  her  dreaming  eyes  and  the  silhouetted  backs 
of  the  footman  and  chauffeur  imagination  made  a  mem- 
ory momentarily  real ;  she  saw,  as  it  were  limned  darkly 


8  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

upon  the  plate-glass  partition,  the  face  of  Dobbin,  Richard 
Daubeney  as  that  night  had  reintroduced  him :  the  bold, 
brown  face,  lighted  by  clear  eyes  and  an  occasional  gleam 
of  teeth,  of  the  adventurer  into  whom  exile  had  metamor- 
phosed Dobbin.  Understanding,  self-reliant,  dependable: 
qualities  that  might  have  made  Dobbin  a  rival  for  Bellamy 
to  reckon  with  had  he  been  able  to  boast  them  of  old.  But 
in  those  days  he  had  been  no  more  than  ardent  and  elo- 
quent and  dear.  He  had  needed  to  go  away  to  war  to  find 
what  he  had  lacked  to  make  him — well,  yes,  dangerous. 
Dangerous,  that  is,  to  any  but  a  woman  well  in  love  with 
her  husband.  .  .  . 

She  discovered  that  the  car  was  already  at  a  standstill. 
Immersed  in  reverie,  she  hadn't  noticed  the  turn  off  from 
the  Avenue. 

As  always,  her  home  enfolded  her  in  its  comfortable 
atmosphere  of  security  from  every  assault  of  adversity 
by  virtue  of  the  solid  wealth  upon  which  it  was  founded, 
that  formidable  whole  into  which  two  great  fortunes  had 
been  fused  by  her  marriage  with  Bellamy.  Neither  she 
nor  Bel  had  ever  known  one  qualm  of  financial  uneasi- 
ness, neither  by  chance  conceivable  ever  would.  That 
irking  insecurity  which  so  largely  poisons  the  common  lot 
was  something  wholly  foreign  to  the  ken  of  the  Druces, 
they  must  brew  their  own  poisons  to  take  its  tonic  place. 
None  the  less  the  feeling  of  her  home's  stability  was 
precious,  Lucinda  basked  in  it  like  a  cat  on  an  accustomed 
hearth,  wanting  it  she  must  have  felt  hopelessly  lost 
and  forlorn. 

She  went  slowly  up  to  her  rooms.  And  here,  where 
so  large  a  part  of  her  life  was  lived,  the  sense  of  com- 
pletely satisfying  personal  environment  was  more  than 
ever  strong. 

Pensively  giving  herself  into  the  hands  of  her  maid, 
she  stood  opposite  a  long  mirror.  A  shade  of  concern 
tinged  the  regard  she  bent  upon  that  charming  counter- 
feit, her  interest  grew  meticulous  as  she  observed  that 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  9 

slender  and  subtly  fashioned  body  emerge  from  its  silken 
sheaths.  Where  were  the  signs  of  age,  of  fading  charm? 
What  was  it  Bel  saw  in  other  women  and  failed  to  see  in 
her  ?  What  could  they  give  him  that  she  had  not  to  give  ? 
Was  her  real  rival  only  man's  insatiable  appetite  for  some 
new  thing? 

She  was  as  vain  as  any  woman,  if  no  more  so  than  the 
next;  and  if  she  failed  to  perceive  flaws,  she  failed  with 
more  excuse  than  most  could  claim. 

Supple  and  young  and  fair,  and  slighted     .     .    . 

Her  heart,  too,  she  searched.  But  there  was  nothing 
wanting  there  that  the  most  exacting  husband  and  lover 
could  require.  She  had  told  Dobbin  the  simple  truth: 
she  still  loved  Bel. 

But  love  and  beauty,  it  seemed,  were  not  enough. 

For  a  long  time  she  lay  awake  in  bed,  the  book  un- 
opened in  her  hands,  again  a  creature  of  unthinking 
gratification  in  the  consciousness  of  Home. 

Dark  and  still  but  warm  with  the  life  she  had  breathed 
into  it,  monolithic  in  the  mass  and  firmness  of  its  institu- 
tion yet  a  web  of  her  own  weaving,  it  endured  about  and 
around  her,  cradled  her,  dug  its  roots  deep  into  earth 
that  it  might  sustain  her,  held  its  head  up  to  the  skies  that 
it  might  shield  her  from  the  elements,  opposed  the  thick- 
ness of  its  walls  between  her  and  the  world  of  ungenerous 
passions :  her  Home,  the  one  thing  in  her  life  she  could 
assert  she  had  created. 

Twenty-six,  mistress  of  riches  she  had  never  needed  to 
compute,  safe  at  anchor  in  an  enviable  station,  idle  but 
for  an  ordered  round  of  duties  and  diversions  so  stale  it 
was  hardly  of  more  mental  moment  to  her  than  the  run- 
ning of  her  blood,  not  yet  a  mother  .  .  . 

At  length  she  opened  the  book.  But  its  lines  of  print 
ran  and  blended,  hypnogogic  images,  fugitive  and  frag- 
mentary, formed  and  faded  on  the  type-dark  pages: 
Dobbin's  face  again,  so  changed  yet  the  same,  with  that 
look  at  once  disturbing  and  agreeable  of  curbed  hunger 


10  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

in  the  eyes;  the  face  of  Amelie  Severn,  with  a  stagey 
effect  of  shadows  cast  by  table-lights,  piquant  with  mirth- 
ful mischief  as  she  looked  round,  at  once  challenging  and 
apprehensive  of  Bel's  next  essay  in  amorous  impudence; 
and  Bel's  face  with  glimmering  eyes  and  that  tensity  in 
the  set  of  the  jaw  which,  in  the  sight  of  his  wife,  had  but 
one  meaning  .  .  . 

An  echoless  clap  of  sound  penetrated  the  walls,  the  slam 
of  a  cab  door.  Lucinda  dropped  her  book.  The  front 
doors  crashed  resoundingly.  She  turned  out  her  light 
and  lay  listening,  watchful. 

Beneath  the  door  that  communicated  with  Bel's  room 
a  rim  of  gold  shone  out.  She  heard  him  stumble  against 
a  chair  and  swear  at  it,  turned  quietly  on  her  side,  away 
from  the  door,  and  composed  herself  to  sleep. 

Some  minutes  after,  a  yellow  light  splashed  athwart  her 
bed. 

"Linda?"  Bel's  tongue,  as  thick  as  she  had  expected 
it  to  be,  called  again,  insistently:  "Linda?  'Wake, 
Linda?" 

She  made  no  stir  at  all,  and  presently  he  closed  the 
door  and  she  heard  him  grumbling,  then  a  click  as  he 
switched  off  his  bedside  lamp. 

Later  he  began  to  snore,  something  he  never  did  unless 
he  had  been  drinking  heavily. 

Her  drowsy  time  had  passed,  not  to  return.  She  lay 
for  hours,  looking  wide-eyed  into  darkness,  thinking. 

How  had  Dobbin  known — or  guessed — she  was  un- 
happy ? 

She  wasn't,  she  was  neither  happy  nor  unhappy,  she 
was  just  a  little  lonely  .  .  .  wasted  .  .  . 


Ill 

BELLAMY  DRUCE  began  the  day  frugally  with 
grapefruit,  the  headlines  of  the  Herald,  and  coffee. 
It  is  no  more  than  fair  to  state  that  he  seemed  to  hold  all 
three  in  one  degree  of  disfavour.  The  interest  he  showed 
in  the  other  dishes  set  forth  for  his  sustenance  and  delec- 
tation on  the  small  table  in  the  bow-window  of  his  sitting- 
room,  was  limited  to  a  single  jaundiced  glance  at  the  en- 
semble. 

From  the  news  of  the  day,  too,  he  turned  affronted 
eyes.  Strong  daylight  on  white  paper  was  trying  to  optic 
nerves  this  morning.  Over  his  coffee  he  lighted  a 
cigarette,  but  after  a  few  puffs  took  it  from  his  lips  and 
examined  it  with  louring  distrust  which  suggested  the 
birth  of  a  suspicion  that  his  tobacconist  was  not  a  true 
friend.  Hastily  putting  the  thing  from  him,  he  shuffled 
listlessly  the  dozen  or  so  envelopes  on  the  breakfast  table, 
put  these  aside  in  turn,  and  for  a  time  sat  morosely  con- 
templating his  joined  fingers,  trying  to  recollect  some- 
thing confoundedly  elusive.  The  mental  effort  contributed 
nothing  toward  assuaging  a  minor  but  distinct  headache, 
just  back  of  his  eyes. 

At  thirty-five  or  something  less,  Bellamy  was  begin- 
ning to  notice  that  even  a  few  drinks  tended  to  play 
the  deuce  with  one's  memory.  He  liked  to  boast  and  be- 
lieve he  never  drank  to  excess,  but  it  was  none  the  less 
true  that,  of  late,  his  alcoholic  evenings  were  frequently 
much  of  a  blur  in  retrospect. 

After  a  while  he  unlaced  his  hands,  held  them  out  to 
the  light  with  fingers  spread,  and  frowned  to  observe  their 
slight  but  unmistakable  tremor. 
11 


12  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

In  a  petulant  voice  he  asked  the  time  of  his  valet  and, 
learning  it,  ruefully  digested  the  reflection  that  he  had 
eight  hours  more  of  life  to  live,  if  it  could  fairly  be 
called  living,  before  the  hour  of  the  first  cocktail. 

As  a  man  of  strong  principles,  he  made  it  a  rule  never 
to  drink  before  six  in  the  evening. 

After  another  minute  of  wasted  endeavour  to  put 
salt  on  the  tail  of  that  tricky  memory,  he  made  a  discon- 
solate noise,  told  his  valet  to  order  the  car  round,  and 
bestirred  himself  to  finish  dressing. 

Bellamy  Druce  buttoned  himself  into  his  coat  before 
a  mirror.  Like  many  men  who  make  no  pretensions  to 
deserve  the  term  handsome,  he  was  inordinately  finical 
about  his  person.  His  relations  with  his  tailors,  boot  and 
shirt-makers,  were  intimate  and  marked  by  conferences  as 
solemn  and  consequential  as  those  which  keep  European 
premiers  out  of  mischief,  but  no  more  so.  No  valet  had 
yet  succeeded  in  earning  his  confidence  in  such  questions 
as  that  of  the  right  shirt  for  the  lounge  suit  of  the  day. 

But  the  inspection  he  gave  his  attire  this  morning  was 
perfunctory,  his  graver  concern  was  with  the  tone  of  his 
complexion  and  the  look  of  his  eyes. 

To  his  relief  the  one  proved  to  be  clear  and  of  good 
colour,  the  other  betrayed  ravages  of  dissipation  only  in 
a  hint  of  heaviness.  More  than  this,  the  tremor  of  his 
hands  had  in  the  last  few  minutes  become  barely  percep- 
tible. Already  a  strong  constitution,  hardened  by  an  ath- 
letic history  and  inured  to  abuse,  was  beginning  to  react 
to  restorative  measures  taken  immediately  after  waking, 
deep  breathing,  a  steaming  hot  bath,  an  icy  needle-shower, 
a  rub-down. 

Drawing  one  more  long  breath,  he  straightened  his 
shoulders,  lifted  his  chin  a  trifle,  and  went  to  pay  his  ma- 
tutinal addresses  to  Lucinda,  hoping  she  wouldn't  notice 
anything,  or,  if  she  did,  would  be  enough  of  a  sports- 
woman to  let  it  pass  without  comment. 

He  found  Lucinda  seated  on  a  chaise-longue  in  her 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  13 

boudoir,  running  through  her  morning's  mail  by  way  of 
preparation  for  the  daily  half-hour  with  her  secretary 
which  it  demanded.  Posed  with  unfailing  grace  in  a 
neglige  scarcely  more  than  a  sketch  in  lace  and  ribbon, 
with  the  light  from  the  windows  seemingly  drawn  to  a 
focus  by  hair  abundant,  always  rebellious,  and  the  hue 
of  ripe  corn-silk,  she  seemed  as  pretty,  as  fair  and  fragile 
as  a  porcelain  figurine.  Bellamy  needed  only  to  see  her 
thus  to  know  a  stab  of  shame  and  self-reproach. 

Why  must  he  be  such  a  fool  as  ever  to  let  himself  be 
flattered  into  forgetting  sheer  perfection  was  to  be  found 
nowhere  if  not  within  the  walls  of  his  own  home? 

Bending  to  kiss  his  wife,  he  put  that  thought  behind 
him.  He  couldn't  afford  to  dwell  upon  it.  Already  he 
was  too  far  committed  in  this  new  affaire  to  withdraw 
without  losing  face.  But  he  would  find  some  way  soon 
to  make  an  end  of  it  (thank  God !  they  all  had  an  end 
sometime)  and  this  would  be  the  last — "and  after  this, 
never  again !" 

He  really  meant  it  this  time,  he  vowed  he  did    .     .     . 

"Rest  well,  dear?  Don't  need  to  ask  that,  though,  only 
need  to  look  at  you.  Besides,  you  know  you  went  to  sleep 
as  soon  as  you  got  home;  you  were  dead  to  the  world 
when  I  came  in." 

"You  didn't  stay  late  at  the  Brook  ?" 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  made  excuses  to  get  away  early. 
But  you  were  too  quick  for  me,  my  dear." 

Bellamy  sat  down  on  the  foot  of  the  chaise-longue  and 
helped  himself  to  one  of  Lucinda's  cigarettes.  To  his 
relief,  it  tasted  remarkably  like  tobacco. 

"Never  looked  sweeter  in  your  life  than  last  night, 
Linda.  I  was  quite  jealous  of  old  Daubeney,  monopoliz- 
ing you  ..." 

"You  needn't  have  been,  Bel." 

"Don't  know  about  that.  Dick  took  it  pretty  hard  when 
you  accepted  me,  and  if  I'm  any  judge  now,  he's  come 
back  only  to  be  hit  twice  as  hard,  in  the  same  place,  too. 


14  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

If  not,  he's  got  no  right  to  look  at  you  the  way  he  does." 

"I  don't  think  you  were  in  a  good  condition  to  judge." 
Bel  winced,  because  he  had  laid  himself  open  to  this,  and 
it  could  be  taken  two  ways,  neither  comforting.  It  was 
actually  a  relief  to  hear  Lucinda  add:  "You  seemed  to 
be  fairly  preoccupied  yourself,  at  the  table." 

"Oh,  bored  to  tears,  assure  you.  Amelie's  a  pretty  little 
thing,  amiable  enough,  but  nobody  to  talk  to — no  conver- 
sation whatever." 

Lucinda  limited  comment  to  a  mildly  quizzical  look. 
Her  maid,  having  answered  the  door,  was  announcing 
that  the  car  was  waiting  for  Mr.  Druce.  Bellamy  nodded, 
but  seemed  in  no  hurry.  What  was  on  his  mind? 

"Doing  anything  special  today?" 

Lucinda  shook  her  head  slowly,  watching  him  with  a 
half-smile  lambent  with  lazy  intelligence.  He  felt  vaguely 
uneasy,  as  who  should  of  a  sudden  find  himself  hard  by 
the  brink  of  some  abysmal  indiscretion. 

"Thought  we  might  meet  somewhere  for  luncheon,  if 
you're  lunching  out."  \ 

"I'd  love  to."  Lucinda  put  out  an  arm  deliciously 
rounded  beneath  skin  of  a  texture  fairer  and  finer  than 
any  other  Bellamy  had  ever  seen,  and  took  a  morocco- 
bound  engagement  book  from  her  escritoire.  "Let  me  see 
..."  She  riffled  the  leaves.  "I  know  I've  got  some 
shopping  to  do " 

"Have  you,  now !" 

"And  Mrs.  Rossiter  Wade's  bridge-tea  for  some  charity 
or  other  this  afternoon,  but  .  .  .  Oh,  yes!  I'm  hav- 
ing Fanny  Lontaine  to  lunch  at  the  Ritz,  with  Nelly  Guest 
and  Jean  Sedley.  What  a  pity.  Though  nothing  can 
prevent  your  coming,  too,  if  you  like." 

A  dark  suspicion  knitted  Bellamy's  eyebrows.  "Some 
actress?  Sounds  like  it." 

"Fanny  Lontaine?"  Needless  to  ask  which  he  meant, 
the  other  women  were  fixtures  of  their  immediate  circle. 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  15 

Luanda  laughed.  "Nothing  of  the  sort.  Fanny  was  at 
school  with  me — Frances  Worth " 

"Chicago  people?"  Bellamy  put  in  with  symptoms  of 
approval.  "Not  a  bad  lot.  Old  man  Worth — 'Terror  of 
the  Wheat  Pit',  they  called  him — died  not  long  ago  in 
the  odour  of  iniquity,  leaving  eighty  millions  or  so.  Your 
little  schoolmate  ought  to  be  fairly  well-fixed." 

"I  don't  know,  I'm  sure.  I  believe  it's  something  to 
do  with  the  will  that  brought  them  over.  Fanny's  father 
disliked  Harry  Lontaine,  so  Fanny  had  to  run  away  to 
marry  him  and  was  duly  excommunicated  by  the  family. 
She's  lived  in  England  ever  since ;  her  husband's  an  Eng- 
lishman." 

"I  see:  another  of  your  charity  cases." 

"Hardly.  They're  stopping  at  the  Ritz,  that's  where 
I  met  Fanny  the  other  day." 

"Anybody  can  stop  there,  but  not  everybody  can  get 
away." 

"Does  it  matter?" 

"It's  only  I  don't  like  seeing  you  made  use  of,  Linda. 
Your  name  makes  you  fair  game  for  every  climber  and 
fortune-hunter  who  can  claim  or  scrape  acquaintance 
with  you." 

"But  my  friends " 

"Oh,  you're  forever  being  too  friendly  with  stray  cats. 
Why  did  you  ask  Nelly  and  Jean  to  meet  this  woman  if 
it  wasn't  in  the  hope  they'd  take  her  up,  too  ?" 

Lucinda  shrugged.  "Come  to  my  luncheon  and  see  for 
yourself.  Not  that  I  think  you'd  care  for  Fanny,  though 
she  is  pretty  to  death." 

"Why  not,  if  you  like  her  so  much?" 

"She's  not  at  all  the  type  you  seem  to  find  most  at- 
tractive. Why  is  it,  I've  often  wondered,  the  women  you 
lose  your  head  about  are  almost  always  a  bit — well !" 

Bellamy  flushed  sullenly.  It  was  one  of  his  crosses 
that  he  seemed  never  to  have  the  right  answer  ready  for 
Lucinda  when  she  took  that  line.  After  all,  there  is  only 


16  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

one  salvation  for  a  man  married  to  a  woman  cleverer 
than  himself :  to  do  no  wrong. 

"Oh,  if  you're  going  to  rake  up  ancient  history !" 

But  Lucinda  pursued  pensively,  as  if  she  hadn't  heard : 
"I  presume  you've  got  to  run  after  that  sort,  Bel,  because 
they  don't  know  you  as  well  as  I  do — can't." 

Even  a  slow  man  may  have  wit  enough  not  to  try  to 
answer  the  unanswerable.  Bellamy  got  stiffly  to  his  feet. 

"I'll  drop  in  at  the  Ritz  if  I  can  make  it." 

"Do,  dear  .  .  .  And  Bel !"  Lucinda  rose  impul- 
sively and  ran  to  him.  "I'm  sorry,  Bel,  I  was  so  catty 
just  now.  Only,  you  know,  there  are  some  things  one 
can't  help  feeling  keenly.  Dear!" 

She  clung  to  him,  lifting  to  his  lips  a  face  tempting  be- 
yond all  telling.  Insensibly  his  temper  yielded,  and  catch- 
ing her  to  him,  he  kissed  her  with  a  warmth  that  had  long 
been  missing  in  his  caresses. 

"Linda :  you're  a  witch !" 

"I  wish  I  were  .  .  .  enough  of  a  witch,  at  least,  to 
make  you  realize  nobody  cares  for  you  as  I  do,  nor  ever 
will.  Bel:  don't  go  yet.  There's  something  I  want  to 
ask  you  ..." 

"Yes?"  He  held  her  close,  smiling  down  magnani- 
mously  at  that  pretty,  intent  face.  As  long  as  she  loved 
him  so,  couldn't  do  without  him,  all  was  well,  he  could 
do  pretty  much  as  he  liked — within  reasonable  limits,  of 
course,  bounds  dictated  by  ordinary  discretion.  "What's 
on  the  busy  mind?" 

"I've  been  wondering  if  we  couldn't  go  away  together 
somewhere  this  Winter."  Lucinda  divined  hostility  in 
the  tensing  of  the  arm  round  her  waist.  "We're  not 
really  happy  here,  dearest " 

"But  you  were  in  Europe  all  Summer." 

"Not  with  you,  except  for  a  few  weeks.  You  took  me 
over  but  left  me  to  come  back  to  business  affairs  that 
could  have  got  along  perfectly  without  you.  And  while 
you  were  with  me,  what  was  different  from  our  life  here? 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  17 

Nothing  but  the  geography  of  our  environment.  Meeting 
the  same  people,  doing  the  same  things,  living  in  the  self- 
same groove  abroad  as  at  home — that  sort  of  thing's  no 
good  for  us,  Bel." 

"What's  wrong  with  the  way  we  live  ?" 

"Its  desperate  sameness  wears  on  us  till  we  turn  for 
distraction  to  foolish  things,  things  we  wouldn't  dream 
of  doing  if  we  weren't  bored.  Look  through  my  calendar 
there;  you'll  find  I'm  booked  up  for  weeks  ahead,  and 
week  in  and  week  out  the  same  old  round.  And  so  with 
3rou.  Consciously  or  unconsciously  you  resent  it,  dear, 
you're  driven  to  look  for  something  different,  some  excite- 
ment to  lift  you  out  of  the  deadly  rut.  As  for  me  ... 
Would  you  like  it  if  I  took  a  lover  simply  because  I  was 
bored  silly,  too?" 

"Linda!" 

"But  don't  you  see  that's  what  we're  coming  to,  that  is 
how  it's  bound  to  end  with  us  if  we  go  on  this  way,  all  the, 
time  drifting  a  little  farther  apart?  Why  can't  we  run 
away  from  it  all  for  a  while,  you  and  I,  forget  it,  and 
find  ourselves  again  ?  Take  me  to  Egypt,  India,  any  place 
where  we  won't  see  the  same  people  all  the  time  and  do 
the  same  things  every  day.  I  feel  as  if  I'd  lost  you  al- 
ready  " 

"What  nonsense!" 

"Oh,  perhaps  not  altogether  yet.  But  slowly  and  surely 
I  am  losing  you.  Bel :  I  want  my  husband  and — he  needs 
me.  Give  me  a  chance  to  find  him  again  and  prove  to 
him  I'm  something  better  than — than  a  boutonniere  to  a 
man  of  fashion." 

"Boutonniere?" 

"A  neglected  wife,  the  finishing  touch." 

Bellamy  laughed  outright,  and  Lucinda's  earnestness 
melted  into  an  answering  smile.  "What  a  notion !  How 
did  you  get  it,  Linda  ?" 

"Thought  it  up  all  out  of  my  own  head,  strange  as  it 
may  appear.  You  see — this  is  the  danger  of  it  all — you 


18  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

make  me  think,  dear.  And  if  you  keep  that  up,  first 
thing  you  know  I'll  be  all  mental — and  that  would  be  too 
awful!" 

Bel  laughed  again,  more  briefly,  and  slackened  his  em- 
brace ;  and  she  understood  from  this  that,  if  she  had  not 
actually  lost,  she  had  gained  nothing. 

"Perhaps  you're  right.  At  all  events,  it's  worth  think- 
ing about." 

"You  will  think  it  over,  Bel — promise?" 

"Word  of  honour.  But  now — late  for  an  appointment 
— must  run." 

Against  the  better  counsel  of  her  instinct,  Lucinda  put 
all  she  had  left  unsaid  into  her  parting  kiss — and  felt  that 
his  response  was  forced. 

In  chagrin  she  wandered  to  a  window  and  stood  gazing 
blankly  out  till  recalled  by  a  new  voice :  "Good  morning, 
Mrs.  Druce." 

Lucinda  wadded  the  handkerchief  into  her  palm  and 
turned  to  her  secretary,  an  unruffled  countenance. 

"Good  morning,  Elena." 

Elena  Fiske  was  conscientiously  unalluring  in  the  livery 
affected  by  intellect  in  reduced  circumstances.  Thanks 
to  a  cultivated  contempt  for  powder,  her  good  features 
wore  an  honest  polish.  She  walked  with  a  stride  and 
looked  you  in  the  eye.  Erroneously  she  conceived  her 
opinion  of  Lucinda  to  be  privately  entertained. 

"If  you're  ready  for  me,"  she  suggested  with  perfect 
poise. 

"Yes,  quite  ready." 

Elena  consulted  a  sensible  note-book.  "I  was  to  remind 
you  to  telephone  Mrs.  Rossiter  Wade." 

"Oh,  yes." 

Lucinda  took  up  the  telephone  but  only  to  find  the  wire 
already  in  use;  that  is  to  say,  somebody  in  another  part 
of  the  house  was  talking  without  having  thought  to  dis- 
connect the  boudoir  extension.  Recognizing  Bel's  voice, 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  19 

she  would  have  hung  up  at  once  had  she  not  overheard 
a  name. 

"Lucky  to  catch  you  in,  Amelie,"  Bellamy  was  saying 
in  the  blandishing  accents  she  knew  too  well.  "About 
our  luncheon,  you  know " 

"See  here,  Bel:  you're  not  going  to  put  me  off  at  the 
last  minute!" 

"Rather  not!  But  for  reasons  which  I  confidently 
leave  to  your  imagination,  it  might  be  better  to  make  it 
any  place  but  the  Ritz.  What  do  you  say  to  the  Clique? 
It's  at  least  discreet " 

"But  Bel!"  the  mocking  voice  of  Amelie  Severn  put 

in "we  settled  on  the  Clique  instead  of  the  Ritz  last 

night,  just  before  you  went  home.  What's  happened 
to  the  old  memory?" 

Bellamy  was  still  stammering  sheepishly  when  Lucinda 
cut  off. 


IV 

FROST  in  the  air  of  that  early  Winter  day  lent  its 
sunlight  the  cold  brilliance  of  diamond-dust.  The 
sky  was  turquoise  glaze,  more  green  than  blue,  incredibly 
hard,  shining,  high  and  resonant.  Though  the  new  year 
was  well  launched,  snow  had  not  yet  fallen,  no  dismal 
sierras  of  mud,  slush  and  rubbish  disfigured  the  city 
streets  and  hindered  their  swift  business.  But  on  Fifth 
avenue,  by  that  mid-morning  hour,  the  crush  of  motor- 
cars had  grown  so  dense  that  one  could  hardly  hope  to 
drive  from  the  Plaza  to  Thirty-fourth  street  in  less  than 
thirty  minutes. 

Bellamy,  nursing  a  mood  blackly  malcontent,  fumed 
over  every  halt  dictated  by  the  winking  semaphore  lights 
of  the  traffic  towers.  He  could  have  made  far  better 
time  afoot,  and  would  infinitely  have  preferred  the  ex- 
ercise— indeed,  felt  need  of  it.  But  in  his  understanding 
it  was  essential  that  the  car  should  set  him  down  in  front 
of  the  sedate  pressed-brick  structure  on  East  Thirtieth 
street  whose  entrance  was  flanked  by  an  ever-stainless 
plate  of  brass  advertising  in  dignified  black  letters 
OFFICES  OF  THE  DRUCE  ESTATE — necessary  for  the  plant- 
ing of  what  he  was  pleased  to  term  his  "alibi."  It  made 
his  mind  easier  to  know  he  could  prove  by  the  chauffeur 
that  he  had  "gone  to  business."  What  he  did  with  him- 
self after  passing  through  those  austere  portals  the  chauf- 
feur couldn't  know,  couldn't  be  expected  to  know,  conse- 
quently couldn't  tell. 

It  was  true,  Lucinda  had  never  deigned  to  question  a 
servant  about  his  comings  and  goings,  he  had  no  reason 
to  believe  she  would  ever  be  so  far  forgetful  of  her 
dignity.  Still,  if  one  will  flirt  with  fire,  the  first  rule  is 
to  take  out  insurance. 

20 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  21 

Notwithstanding  the  numerous  occasions  when  his  own 
laches  and  errors  of  judgment  had  betrayed  Bellamy,  his 
life  of  a  licensed  philanderer  (so  he  rated  himself)  re- 
mained one  endless  intrigue  of  evasion,  a  matted  tangle  of 
lies,  equivocations,  shifts  and  stratagems,  to  keep  account 
of  which  was  not  only  a  matter  of  life  and  death  with  him 
but  a  task  to  tax  the  wits  of  any  man.  The  wonder  was 
less  that  feet  which  trod  such  treacherous  ground  were 
known  to  slip,  than  that  they  slipped  so  seldom. 

Merely  to  admit  the  need  for  all  this  involution  of  am- 
biguity and  double-dealing  grievously  affronted  self-es- 
teem. Deceit  was  strangely  distasteful  to  this  man  who 
was  forever  floundering  in  a  muck  of  it,  a  quagmire  from 
whose  grim  suck  his  feet  were  never  wholly  free.  In 
saner  interludes,  times  of  disillusion  and  clear  inner 
.-vision  such  as  this,  he  loathed  it  all,  himself  most  of  all. 
Naturally  fastidious,  he  felt  himself  denied,  much  as  if 
he  were  constrained  continually  to  dabble  those  well-mani- 
cured hands  in  a  kennel.  He  would  have  given  half  of  all 
he  possessed  to  be  free  of  this  feeling  of  personal  dis- 
honor which  was  the  fruit  of  self-indulgence.  A  quaint 
contradiction  was  to  be  read  in  the  fact  that  he  knew  no 
way  to  satisfy  his  vanity  but  at  the  cost  of  giving  his  van- 
ity offence. 

Today  found  Bellamy  more  out  of  humour  with  himself 
than  ever  before,  more  disposed  to  consider  turning  over 
a  new  leaf,  a  project  often  mooted  by  his  conscience  (al- 
ways when  he  was  falling  out  of  love)  often  approved  but 
never  seriously  tackled. 

Now,  however,  he  had  every  incentive:  self-esteem 
sick  to  death  in  sequence  to  last  night's  dissipation,  anx- 
iety to  reanimate  it  with  a  noble  gesture;  mortification 
due  to  that  lapse  of  memory  which  had  laid  him  open  to 
Amelie's  derision,  accompanied  by  reluctance  to  see  the 
lady  soon  again ;  most  of  all,  Lucinda's  unmistakable  ap- 
peal to  his  senses  and  sensibilities  both,  in  their  inter- 
view just  ended. 


22  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

There  was  no  one  like  Linda,  not  a  woman  in  New 
York  who  could  hold  a  candle  to  her  for  looks,  wit  and 
intelligence,  none  other  whom  he  could  trust,  no  one  who 
loved  him  so  well.  And  it  would  be  such  a  simple  matter 
to  do  as  she  suggested,  humour  her,  make  her  happy — 
clear  out  of  New  York  and  not  return  till  time  had  wiped 
the  slate  clean  of  his  score,  then  settle  down  to  behave, 
and  incidentally  to  respect,  himself. 

Where  was  the  sense  in  holding  on  this  tack,  ignoring 
Linda,  making  her  miserable,  storing  up  sure  retribution, 
and  meantime  playing  the  silly  goat,  all  for  the  sake  of  a 
few  hours  of  facile  excitement?  It  wasn't  as  if  he 
couldn't  help  himself,  as  if  his  fatal  beauty  rendered  it 
impossible  for  women  to  resist  him.  No:  the  women 
he  flirted  with  were  as  ready  to  flirt  with  any  other  man 
who  has  as  much  to  offer  them  .  .  . 
Why,  then  go  on? 

Bellamys  assured  himself  he  was  damn*  sorry  that  he 
hadn't,  while  calling  Amelie  up  from  the  library,  obeyed 
his  first  impulse  and  broken  off  the  appointment  alto- 
gether. Chances  were  her  resentment  would  have  re- 
sulted in  a  permanent  breach.  In  which  event  all  hands 
would  have  been  happier.  While  if  he  went  on  now  to 
meet  her  at  this  shady  Clique  Club,  the  end  might  easily 
be,  what  the  outcome  of  persistence  in  his  present  courses 
must  surely  be,  heartbreak,  unhappiness,  the  slime  of  the 
divorce  courts. 

Thrice  in  the  course  of  the  scant  hour  he  spent  at  his 
desk  Bellamy  put  out  a  hand  to  the  telephone,  meaning 
to  call  up  Amelie  and  call  it  off ;  and  thrice  withheld  his 
hand,  partly  because  he  hated  the  thought  of  a  wrangle 
over  the  wire,  partly  because  he  was  afraid  the  girl  at 
the  switchboard  might  listen  in. 

In  the  end  he  left  his  office  half  an  hour  earlier  than  he 
need  have,  and  telephoned  the  Severn  apartment  from  the 
Waldorf,  only  to  learn  from  her  maid  that  Mrs.  Severn 
was  not  at  home. 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  23 

Divided  between  relief  and  annoyance,  he  took  a  taxi 
to  the  Clique,  arriving  twenty  minutes  before  the  time 
appointed,  and  Heaven  alone  knew  how  long  before  he 
might  expect  Amelie.  For  Amelie  was  one  of  those  who, 
having  no  personality  of  their  own  worth  mentioning, 
build  themselves  one  of  appropriated  tricks  and  traits,  as 
a  rule  those  which  are  least  considerate  of  the  comfort 
of  others.  Amelie  believed  a  certain  distinction  inhered 
in  being  always  late  for  an  appointment. 

Now  Bellamy  detested  waiting,  especially  in  a  public 
place,  and  never  more  than  in  the  little  foyer  of  the  Clique, 
with  its  suggestively  discreet  lighting ;  the  last  place  where 
one  cared  to  be  hung  up  on  exhibition. 

The  Clique  Club  was  a  post- Prohibition  institution  of 
New  York,  run  in  direct,  more  or  less  open,  and  famously 
successful  defiance  of  the  Eighteenth  Amendment.  One 
had  to  become  a  member  in  order  to  obtain  admission,  or 
else  be  introduced  as  the  guest  of  a  member ;  and  the  in- 
itiation fee  was  something  wholly  dependent  on  one's  rat- 
ing in  the  esteem  of  the  Membership  Committee,  whose 
powers  had  been  delegated  en  bloc  to  an  urbane  brigand, 
the  club  steward,  Theodore  by  name :  in  more  humid  days 
the  more  than  ordinarily  supercilious,  courted  and  success- 
ful maitre-d'hotel  of  a  fashionable  restaurant.  Once  a 
member  and  within  those  unhallowed  precincts,  "every- 
thing went,"  in  the  parlance  of  its  frequenters,  "you  could 
get  away  with  murder."  There  was  a  floor  for  dancing, 
with  the  inevitable  jazz  band,  rather  a  good  one.  Rooms 
were  provided  for  private  dinner  parties  of  every  size, 
however  small.  In  the  restaurant  proper  an  improper  de- 
gree of  privacy  was  obtainable  at  will  simply  by  drawing 
the  curtains  of  the  booths  in  which  the  tables  were  indivi- 
dually set  apart.  The  cooking  was  atrocious,  the  wines 
and  liquors  only  tolerable,  the  tariffs  cynical. 

Amelie  Severn  kept  Bellamy  kicking  his  heels  a  bad 
quarter  of  an  hour  longer  than  she  need  have ;  and  those 
fifteen  minutes,  added  to  the  twenty  which  he  had  in- 


24  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

flicted  upon  himself,  served  to  draw  his  temper  fine. 
Nothing  of  this,  however,  was  apparent  in  his  reception  of 
her,  in  fact  much  of  it  was  obscured  for  the  first  few 
minutes  by  the  admiration  which  her  undeniable  good 
looks  could  hardly  have  failed  to  excite.  There  was,  after 
all,  a  measure  of  compensation  in  the  knowledge  that  one 
had  made  a  conquest  of  so  rare  a  creature. 

It  didn't  count  that  there  had  been  more  truth  than 
good  faith  in  Bellamy's  statement  to  his  wife  that  Amelie 
was  "amiable  enough,  but  nobody  to  talk  to."  Good 
humour,  easy  spirits,  grace  of  manner  and  charm  of  per- 
son will  carry  even  a  dull  woman  far.  Amelie  was  neither 
stupid  nor  witty;  she  was  shrewd.  Mainly  through  in- 
stinct but  in  part  through  education  she  was  shrewd,  she 
knew  what  she  wanted,  which  was  every  luxury,  and  how 
to  go  about  obtaining  it,  which  was  simple ;  all  one  needed 
to  do  was  to  fix  on  some  tedious  man  to  flatter  with  one's 
attentions.  For  the  more  dull  the  man,  the  better  the  di- 
vidends returned  by  such  inexpensive  investments;  the 
more  keen-witted,  the  more  disposed  to  count  the  cost. 

If  there  was  nothing  subtle  in  the  philosophy  of  Amelie, 
it  boasted  this  rare  virtue,  it  was  practical  and  practicable 
in  the  extreme ;  just  as  it  is  practised  to  an  extent  few  men 
dream  of. 

To  women  of  this  type  love  is  the  poppy  of  hallucina- 
tion, calling  for  ruthless  extermination  if  found  in  one's 
own  garden,  but  sure  to  produce  goodly  crops  if  culti- 
vated by  fair,  skilled  hands  in  the  fields  of  the  neigh- 
bouring sex. 

Amelie  had  married  Ross  Severn  because  he  was  well- 
to-do,  uninteresting,  middle-aged,  of  good  family;  and 
had  quickly  repented  because  he  spoiled  her  and  showed 
no  intention  of  ceasing  to  be  a  good  insurance  risk.  So 
she  craved  much  exciting  indiscretions  as  this  assignation 
with  another's  husband  at  the  Clique  Club  of  questionable 
repute. 

She  frankly  owned  as  much  while  Bellamy  was  help- 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  25 

ing  her  with  her  wrap  in  the  semi-seclusion  of  their  as  yet 
uncurtained  booth. 

" — Thrilled  to  a  jellybean !"  she  declared,  employing  an 
absurdity  which  she  had  promptly  pirated  upon  hearing 
the  laugh  that  rewarded  its  use  by  another  woman. 
"Thanks,  old  dear."  She  shrugged  out  of  her  furs, 
planted  elbows  upon  the  table,  cradled  her  chin  upon  the 
backs  of  engaged  fingers,  and  peered  about  the  room  with 
quick,  inquisitive,  bird-like  glances.  "Ross  would  be  fur- 
ious." 

"Hope  so.  If  he  weren't,  he  ought  to  be  spoken  to 
about  it.  Or  don't  you  think  he  has  any  right  to  object 
to  your  doing  as  you  please  ?" 

"Oh,  why  worry  about  Ross's  rights?  He's  just  a 
husband." 

"And  husbands  haven't  any  rights  worth  considering. 
Quite  so !  All  the  same,  sometimes  they  assert  'em." 

"I'd  like  to  see  Ross  .  .  .  "  A  laugh  of  lazy  inso- 
lence rounded  off  Amelie's  thought.  "Besides,  I'm  not 
doing  anything  wrong  ..." 

"Not  yet,"  Bellamy  admitted  equably.  He  nodded  to 
their  hovering  waiter.  "What  kind  of  cocktail,  Amelie? 
Everything  else  is  ordered." 

"Thank  goodness :  I'm  famished.    A  T-N-T,  please. 

The  waiter  noted  down  this  frightful  prescription  with 
entire  equanimity,  but  lingered.  "And  monsieur ?" 

"Nothing,  thank  you." 

"Nothing,  monsieur?"  Professional  poise  was  sadly 
shattered  for  an  instant.  Why  should  one  punish  oneself 
with  the  cuisine  of  the  Clique  and  reject  the  solitary  com- 
pensation the  establishment  had  to  offer?  Ejaculating 
"Nothing!"  once  more,  in  a  tone  of  profound  perturba- 
tion, the  waiter  retired. 

Bellamy  tried  to  cover  his  annoyance  with  a  laugh,  but 
surprised  a  look  of  dark  resentment  in  Amelie's  eyes  and 
opened  his  own.  "Hello?" 

"Why  did  you  do  that ?    Simply  to  mortify  me?" 


26  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

"Afraid  I  don't  follow " 

"Do  you  want  the  waiters  to  think  you  bring  me  here 
solely  to  satisfy  my  appetite  for  liquor?  It  isn't  as  if  you 
were  a  plaster  saint  in  that  line  yourself — not  exactly." 

"Sorry,  Amy.  Make  it  a  rule  never  to  drink  before 
evening." 

"Then  why  come  here  at  all  ?" 

"Thought  we'd  agreed  a  little  everyday  discretion 
wouldn't  do  us  any  harm." 

"What  are  you  afraid  of?    Your  wife?" 

Bellamy  answered  only  with  a  fatigued  look.  The 
cocktail  was  being  served. 

"And  the  melon,  monsieur — shall  I  bring  it  at  once?" 

"Please." 

The  tone  was  crisp  if  the  word  was  civil.  Amelie 
sipped  her  mixed  poisons,  mysterious  malice  informing 
the  eyes  that  watched  Bellamy  over  the  rim  of  the  glass. 

"Why  take  it  out  on  the  waiter  if  you're  in  a  temper 
with  me?" 

"I'm  not,  Amy,  I — "  Bellamy  caught  himself,  and  per- 
mitted impatience  to  find  an  outlet  in  a  sound  of  polite  ex- 
postulation :  "Really !" 

Amelie  put  aside  an  empty  glass.  Refreshed  and  for- 
tified, she  brooded  with  sultry  eyes  while  wedges  of  un- 
der-ripe casaba  bedded  in  cracked  ice  were  set  before  them. 

"You  know,  Bel,"  she  observed  in  the  dispassionate  ac- 
cents of  the  friend  who  wouldn't  for  worlds  mention  it, 
only  it's  for  your  own  good — "you  really  ought  to  be  more 
careful  about  your  drinking.  You  barely  escaped  being 
,pretty  awful  at  times,  last  night." 

An  indictment  the  more  unkind  because  a  cloudy  mem- 
ory refused  to  affirm  or  deny  its  justice.  Bellamy  began 
to  repent  his  fidelity  to  the  six  o'clock  rule. 

"Fancy  your  forgetting  we'd  agreed  to  meet  here  in- 
stead of  at  the  Ritz.  That  ought  to  show  you  how  lit 
you  were." 

"Sorry " 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  27 

"That's  all  very  well:  but  suppose  you  hadn't  had 
sense  enough  to  call  up  this  morning,  suppose  I  had  come 
here  to  meet  you,  just  as  we'd  arranged,  and  had  to  go 
home  after  waiting  around  for  hours  like  some  shop-girl 
forgotten  on  a  street  corner " 

"Poetic  justice,  if  you  ask  me — something  to  offset  some 
of  the  hours  you've  kept  me  fidgeting,  wondering  if  you 
meant  to  show  up  at  all." 

Injudiciously,  Bellamy  added  a  smile  to  the  retort,  by 
way  of  offsetting  its  justice. 

"So  it  amuses  you  to  think  of  making  an  exhibition  of 
me  in  a  place  like  this !" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know."  Bellamy  surveyed  the  restaurant 
without  bias.  "Not  a  bad  little  hole  for  people  in  our  po- 
sition." 

The  melon,  inedible  and  uneaten,  was  removed,  soup 
in  cups  was  substituted. 

"  'People  in  our  position' !  I'm  to  understand,  then,  any 
'little  hole'  is  good  enough  for  me,  so  long  as  I  don't  inter- 
fere with  Lucinda's  parties  at  the  Ritz." 

Bellamy  straightened  his  spine  and  put  down  his  spoon. 
An  understanding  captain  of  waiters  read  his  troubled 
eye  and  made  casual  occasion  to  draw  the  curtains  across 
the  front  of  the  booth. 

"It  is  because  Lucinda's  lunching  at  the  Ritz  today, 
isn't  it?" 

"My  dear  Amy,"  said  Bellamy  coolly :  "I'm  unaware  of 
having  done  anything  to  provoke  this,  and  if  I've  sinned 
unwittingly,  I  beg  your  pardon  very  truly.  Won't  you 
believe  that,  please,  and  let  me  off  for  today?  I'm  feeling 
rather  rusty  myself,  my  dear,  and  this  is  beginning  to  get 
on  my  nerves." 

At  his  first  words  the  woman  drew  back,  flushing,  eyes 
stormy  above  a  mouth  whose  gentle  allure  lost  itself  in  a 
hardening  line.  Then  swiftly  reconsideration  followed, 
visibly  the  selfish  second  thought  took  shape  in  the  angry 
eyes  and  melted  their  ice  to  a  mist  of  unshed  tears  beneath 


28  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

lids  newly  languorous.  The  petulant  lips,  too,  refound 
their  tremulous  tenderness.  Amelie's  hand  fell  upon  Bel- 
lamy's in  a  warm,  convulsive  clasp.  She  leaned  across 
the  corner  of  the  table. 

"Kiss  me,  Bel — I'm  so  wretched !" 

He  kissed  her  adequately  but  without  any  sort  of  emo- 
tion, thinking  it  strange,  all  the  while  her  mouth  clung  to 
his,  that  he  should  so  clearly  know  this  to  be  good  acting, 
no  more  than  that,  no  less.  Bellamy  was  not  accustomed 
to  see  through  women  at  so  young  a  stage  of  intimacy; 
that  came  later,  came  surely;  but  never  before  had  it 
come  so  soon.  And  in  a  little  quake  of  dread  he  won- 
dered if  it  were  because  he  had  grown  old  beyond  his 
years,  too  aged  in  sentimental  tippling  to  have  retained 
the  capacity  for  generous  credulity  of  his  younger  years, 
Or  was  it  that  the  woman's  insincerity  had  so  eaten  out 
her  heart,  no  technical  perfection  could  lend  persuasion 
to  her  playing,  her  caresses  potency?  Or  that  he  had, 
since  morning,  fallen  in  love  with  his  wife  all  over  again 
and  so  truly  that  no  rival  passion  could  seem  real  ? 

It  was  true,  at  least,  that  his  thoughts  were  quick  and 
warm  with  memories  of  Linda  even  while  he  was  most 
engaged  with  the  effort  to  do  justice  to  Amelie's  lips. 
And  perceiving  this  to  be  so,  self -contempt  took  hold  of 
him  like  a  sickness. 

They  resumed  their  poses  of  nonchalant  and  sophisti- 
cated creatures  amiably  discussing  an  informal  meal.  But 
first  the  woman  made  effective  use  of  a  handkerchief. 

"Forgive  me,  dear,"  she  murmured.  "I  know  it  was 
perfectly  rotten  of  me,  but  I  couldn't  help  it.  I'm  a  bit 
overwrought,  Bel,  not  too  happy ;  being  in  love  with  you 
has  made  the  way  things  are  at  home  doubly  hard  to  en- 
dure, you  must  know  that;  and  then — of  course" — she 
smiled  nervously — "I'm  jealous." 

He  was  silent,  fiddling  with  a  fork,  avoiding  her  eye. 

"Of  Lucinda — you  understand." 

He  said  heavily:  "Yes    ..." 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  29 

She  waited  an  instant,  and  when  he  failed  to  say  more 
began  to  see  that  she  had  overplayed  her  hand. 

"You  do  love  me,  don't  you,  Bel?" 

"Of  course." 

"Then  you  must  know  how  hard  it  is  for  me,  you  can't 
blame  me  for  growing  impatient." 

This  time  he  looked  up  and  met  her  gaze.  "Impatient 
for  what?" 

"Why,  for  what  every  woman  expects  when  she's  in 
love  and  the  man  whom  she  loves  loves  her;  something 
definite  to  look  forward  to,  I  mean.  We  can't  go  on  like 
this,  of  course." 

"No,  not  like  this." 

"I'm  not  the  kind  of  a  woman  for  a  hole-and-corner 
affair,  Bel.  If  I  were,  you  wouldn't  be  in  love  with  me." 

He  nodded  intently:  "What  do  you  propose?" 

"I've  been  waiting  for  that  to  come  from  you,  dear ;  but 
you  never  seem  to  live  for  anything  but  the  moment." 

"I've  got  to  know  what's  in  your  mind,  Amy.  Tell  me 
frankly." 

"Well,  then !" — she  saw  the  mistake  of  it  instantly,  but: 
for  the  life  of  her  couldn't  muffle  the  ring  of  challenge — • 
"I  fancy  it  means  Reno  for  both  of  us." 

"Meaning  I'm  to  divorce  Linda  and  marry  you?" 

She  gave  a  deprecating  flutter  of  hands.  "What  else 
can  we  do  ?" 

Bellamy  said  with  a  stubborn  shake  of  his  head :  "Never 
without  good  cause ;  and  as  far  as  I  know,  Linda's  blame- 
less. I'm  a  pretty  hopeless  proposition,  I  know,  but  not 
quite  so  bad  as  all  that." 

Amelie  sat  back,  her  colour  rising.  She  could  not  mis- 
interpret the  determination  in  his  temper;  yet  vanity 
would  not  permit  her  to  forego  one  last  attempt.  "But 
if  she  should  divorce  you  ?" 

"Deal  with  that  when  it  comes  up.  Frankly,  don't  be- 
lieve it  ever  will.  Don't  mean  to  give  Linda  any  reason  I 
can  avoid." 


;80  LINDA  LEE    INC. 

"What  you  mean  is,  you  really  love !" 

"I  mean,"  he  cut  in  sharply,  "whatever  my  shortcom- 
ings, I  respect  Linda,  I  won't  hurt  her  if  I  can  help  it." 
"How  charming  of  you!" 

For  all  acknowledgment  she  received  a  silent  inclination 
of  his  head ;  and  she  began  to  laugh  dangerously,  eyes 
abrim  with  hatred,  the  heat  in  her  cheeks  shaming  their 
rouge. 

"Well,  thank  God  I've  come  to  understand  you  before 
we  went  any  farther !" 
"Amen  to  that." 

"And  so  all  your  love-making  has  been  simply " 

"The  same  as  yours,  Amy." 

"Then  why  did  you  ever  make  love  to  me  at  all,  please?" 
"Because  you  let  me  see  you  wanted  me  to." 
The  brutal  truth  of  that  lifted  the  woman  to  her  feet. 
"I  don't  think  I  care  for  any  more  luncheon,"  she  said  in 
a  shaking  voice.     "If  you  don't  mind     ..." 
Bellamy  rose,  bowing  from  his  place :  "Not  at  all." 
He  offered  to  help  her  with  her  fur,  but  she  wouldn't 
have  that,  threw  the  garment  over  her  arm  and  flung 
round  the  table,  then  checked  and  looked  back.    "You  un- 
derstand— this  ends  it — for  all  time?" 

"I  couldn't  do  you  the  injustice  of  thinking  anything  else." 

She  made  a  tempestuous  exit  through  the  curtains. 

Bellamy  grunted  in  self-disgust,  lighted  a  cigarette,  and 

looked  up  to  see  the  suavely  concerned  countenance  of 

Theodore. 

"Something  is  wrong,  Mr.  Druce?    The  lady ?" 

"Was  suddenly  taken  ill.  Be  good  enough  to  cancel  the 
rest  of  the  order,  Theodore,  and  let  me  have  my  bill. 
And — yes,  think  I  will — you  may  send  me  a  Scotch  and 
soda." 

Bellamy  consulted  his  watch.  Just  on  two:  Linda's 
luncheon  party  would  be  in  full  swing.  He  had  nothing 
better  to  do,  might  as  well  look  in  at  the  Ritz.  Linda 
•would  like  it  , 


<"T~>HREE  o'clock,  Thomas,  say  a  quarter  to." 

J.      "Yes,  madam." 

The  footman  performed  a  faultless  salute  and  doubled 
round  to  hop  into  place  beside  the  chauffeur,  while  the 
door-porter  shut  the  door  with  a  bang  whose  nicely  cal- 
culated volume  told  all  the  world  within  earshot  that  the 
door-porter  of  the  fashionable  hotel  of  the  day  was  bang- 
ing the  door  to  Mrs.  Bellamy  Druce's  brougham. 

The  technique  of  every  calling  is  similarly  susceptible 
of  refinement  into  an  art. 

Two  Lucinda  Druces  crossed  the  sidewalk  and  passed 
through  the  turnstile  of  bright  metal  and  plate-glass 
which  served  as  a  door  at  the  Forty-sixth  street  entrance 
to  the  Ritz-Carlton  Hotel — the  one  perceptible  to  mortal 
vision  a  slender  and  fair  young  person  costumed  in  im- 
peccable taste  and  going  her  way  with  that  unstudied 
grace  which  is  the  last  expression  of  man's  will  to  make 
woman  a  creature  whose  love  shall  adorn  him. 

To  the  luncheon-hour  mob  that  milled  in  the  meagre 
foyer  of  this  hotel,  which  holds  its  public  by  studiously 
subjecting  it  to  every  Continental  inconvenience,  she  pre- 
sented the  poise  of  a  pretty  woman  who  has  never  known 
care  more  galling  than  uncertainty  as  to  her  most  becom- 
ing adornment.  Not  even  the  shadow  of  that  other  Lu- 
cinda who  walked  with  her,  who  was  no  more  separate 
from  her  than  her  own  shadow,  who  ceased  not  to  beat 
her  bosom  and  cry  to  Heaven  for  help,  was  to  be  detected 
in  the  composed,  steady  eyes  that  searched  swiftly,  but 
without  seeming  to  see,  the  faces  of  that  congested  con- 
gregation of  fashionables  and  half-fashionables  and 
31 


32  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

would-be  fashionables,  their  apes  and  sycophants  and 
audience. 

Seeing  nowhere  those  whom  she  was  seeking,  Lucinda 
made  her  way  to  the  lounge ;  or  it  would  be  more  true  to 
say  a  way  was  made  for  her  by  the  simple  prestige  of  her 
presence,  by  the  magic  whisper  of  her  name  from  mouth 
to  mouth  commanding  a  deference  neither  beauty  nor 
breeding  alone  could  have  earned  her. 

The  lounge  was  at  that  hour  three-quarters  invested  by 
an  overflow  of  tables  from  the  dining-room  proper,  only 
at  its  eastern  end  a  few  easy  chairs  and  settees  had  been 
left  for  the  accommodation  of  those  lucky  enough  to  win 
past  the  functionary  who  guarded  the  portals,  charged 
with  winnowing  the  sheep  from  the  goats,  admitting  the 
elect  to  this  antechamber  to  the  one  true  Olympus,  shunt- 
ing off  the  reject  to  the  limbo  of  the  downstairs  grill. 

Sighting  Lucinda  from  afar,  with  a  bow  of  ineffable 
esteem  this  one  glided  forward.  "Mrs.  Sedley  and  Mrs. 
Guest  are  waiting  for  you,  Mrs.  Druce."  At  the  same 
time  Lucinda  herself  discovered  her  friends  occupying 
a  settee,  with  Fanny  Lontaine  between  them.  "Your  table 
is  quite  ready.  Do  you  wish  luncheon  to  be  served  at 
once?" 

Lucinda  assented  pleasantly  and  passed  on.  Immedi- 
ately the  head  waiter  caught  the  eye  of  a  subaltern  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  and  in  intimate  silence  conversed 
with  him  without  moving  a  muscle  more  than  the  super- 
ciliary. The  confederate  acknowledged  this  confidence 
by  significantly  dropping  his  lashes,  then  in  even  more 
cryptic  fashion  flashed  on  the  inspiring  intelligence  to  that 
statuesque  figure  which,  from  the  head  of  the  stairs, 
between  lounge  and  oval  dining-room,  brooded  with  basil- 
isk eyes  over  the  business  of  both.  Thus  a  minor  miracle 
was  worked,  bringing  that  one  at  once  to  life  and  down 
to  earth;  in  another  moment  the  maitre-d'hotel  himself 
was  attentive  at  Lucinda's  elbow. 

"But  I  never  dreamed  you  three  knew  one  another!" 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  33 

she  was  exclaiming  in  the  surprise  of  finding  Fanny  Lon- 
taine  on  terms  with  those  whom  she  had  bidden  to  meet 
her.  "Fanny,  why  didn't  you  tell  me ?" 

"But  I  didn't  know — how  should  I  ? — your  Nelly  Guest 
was  Ellen  Field  married." 

"That's  so;  I'd  completely  forgotten  you  both  come 
from  Chicago." 

"Hush !"  Nelly  Guest  gave  a  stage  hiss.  "Someone 
might  hear.  You  never  forget  anything,  do  you  ?  And  all 
these  years  I've  tried  so  hard  to  live  it  down!  It's  no 
fair  ..." 

Impressively  convoyed,  the  quartet  proceeded  to  "Mrs. 
Druce's  table"  in  the  oval  room.  Rumour  of  gossip  and 
turning  of  heads  attended  their  progress,  flattery  to  which 
Lucinda,  Nelly  and  Jean  were  inured,  of  which  they  were 
aware  only  as  they  were  of  sensuous  strains  of  stringed 
music,  the  orderly  stir  of  waiters,  the  satisfying  sheen  of 
silver  and  napery,  the  brilliance  and  brouhaha  of  that 
gathering  of  amiable  worldlings,  and  the  heady  breath 
of  it,  a  subtly  blended,  oddly  inoffensive  melange  of 
scents  of  flowers  and  scented  flesh,  smells  of  cooked  food 
and  cigarette  smoke. 

But  in  the  understanding  of  Fanny  Lontaine,  accus- 
tomed to  admiration  as  she  was,  and  no  stranger  to  the 
public  life  of  European  capitals,  the  flutter  caused  by  the 
passage  of  her  companions  through  a  phase  of  existence 
so  polite  and  skeptical  conferred  upon  them  an  unmis- 
takable cachet.  She  had  been  long  abroad  and  out  of 
touch,  she  had  never  been  on  intimate  terms  with  New 
York  ways,  but  the  busy  mind  at  work  behind  her  round 
eyes  of  a  child  was  like  a  sponge  for  the  absorption  of  del- 
icate nuances  and  significant  signs  of  all  sorts.  Life 
had  made  it  like  that. 

Six  years  married,  and  two  years  older  than  Lucinda 
Druce,  Fanny  retained,  and  would  till  the  end,  whatever 
life  might  hold  in  store  for  her,  a  look  of  wondering  and 
eager  youthfulness.  Romance  trembled  veritably  upon 


34  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

her  lashes.  She  had  a  way  of  holding  her  lips  slightly 
apart  and  looking  steadily  at  one  when  spoken  to,  as  if 
nothing  more  interesting  had  ever  been  heard  by  the  ears 
ambushed  in  her  bobbed,  ashen  hair.  Her  eyes  of  a  deep 
•violet  shade  held  an  innocence  of  expression  little  less 
than  disconcerting.  Her  body  seemed  never  to  have  out- 
grown its  adolescence,  yet  its  slightness  was  quite  without 
any  angularity  or  awkardness,  it  achieved  roundness 
without  plumpness,  a  stroke  of  physical  genius.  In  the 
question  of  dress  she  showed  a  tendency  to  begin  where 
the  extreme  of  the  mode  left  off,  a  fault  held  venial  in 
view  of  her  apparent  immaturity.  And  then,  of  course, 
she  had  lived  so  long  in  England,  where  people  are  more 
broad-minded  .  .  . 

Apparently  not  talkative  but  a  good  listener,  she  had  a 
knack  of  making  what  she  did  say  stick  in  memory,  not 
so  much  for  its  content  as  for  its  manner,  a  sort  of  shy 
audacity  that  pointed  observations  often  racy  and  a  can- 
dour sometimes  devastating.  But  unless  one  happened  to 
be  looking  at  Fanny  when  she  spoke,  her  remarks  were 
apt  to  seem  less  memorable,  her  humour  less  pungent. 

"It's  heavenly,"  she  now  declared,  coolly  staring  at 
their  neighbours  through  the  smoke  of  her  cigarette! — 
"simply  divine  to  be  home.  I'm  sure  I'd  never  want  to 
see  Europe  again  if  it  weren't  for  Prohibition." 

"You're  not  going  to  suffer  on  that  account  today," 
Jean  Sedley  promised,  producing  from  her  handbag  a  lit- 
tle flash  of  jewelled  gold. 

"But  I  shall !"  Fanny  protested  with  tragic  expression. 
"It's  the  frightful  hypocrisy  that's  curdling  my  soul  and 
ruining  my  insides.  It  makes  one  homesick  for  England, 
where  people  drink  too  much  because  they  like  it,  and  not 
to  punish  themselves  for  electing  a  government  which 
conscientiously  interprets  the  will  of  the  people — and 
leaves  them  to  interpret  their  wont." 

"No  dear,  thanks."  Smilingly  Nelly  Guest  refused  to 
let  Jean  fill  her  glass. 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  35 

"The  figure  ?"  Jean  enquired  in  deep  sympathy. 

"I've  positively  got  to,"  Nelly  sighed.  She  cast  a  rueful 
glance  down  over  her  plump,  pretty  person.  "Compas- 
sionate Columbia  simply  must  not  waddle  when  she  pokes 
her  horn  of  plenty  at  famine-stricken  China." 

"Oh,  that  wretched  pageant !"  Lucinda  roused  from  a 
lapse  into  communion  with  the  Lucinda  who  made  an  un- 
seen fifth.  "When  is  it?  I'd  forgotten  all  about  it." 
Nelly  Guest  named  a  day  two  weeks  in  the  future.  "And 
I  haven't  even  thought  about  my  costume !  Oh,  why  do  we 
punish  ourselves  so  for  Charity's  sweet  sake  ?" 

"Because  deep  down  in  our  hearts  we  all  like  to  parade 
our  virtues." 

"Much  virtue  in  that  plural,"  Nelly  Guest  commented. 

"Well,  I  don't  like  parading  mine  in  pageants,  I  assure 
you." 

"Don't  you,  honestly,  Cindy  ?"  Fanny  asked.  "I  should 
think  you'd  love  that  sort  of  thing.  You  used  to  be  per- 
fectly mad  about  acting." 

"So  is  every  woman — isn't  she? — at  one  stage  or  an- 
other of  her  life  convinced  she's  truly  a  great  actress 
cheated  out  of  her  birthright." 

"I  know.  All  the  same  you  know  you've  got  talent. 
Don't  you  remember  our  open-air  performance  of  Much 
Ado  About  Nothing?  You  were  a  simply  ravishing 
Rosalind." 

"Heavens !    What  do  amateur  theatricals  prove  ?" 

"For  one  thing,"  Jean  Sedley  commented,  "how  long- 
suffering  one's  friends  can  be." 

"And  one's  enemies.  Consider  what  they  sit  through 
just  to  see  us  make  public  guys  of  ourselves." 

"Well!"  Nelly  Guest  lamented:  "my  pet  enemies  are 
going  to  have  a  real  treat  at  the  pageant  unless  I  can  find 
some  way  to  reduce,  inside  a  fortnight." 

"There  was  a  man  in  London  had  a  marvelous  system," 
Fanny  volunteered.  "Everybody  was  going  to  him  last 
Season.  There  ought  to  be  somebody  like  him  over  here." 


86  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

Duly  encouraged,  she  launched  into  a  startlingly  de- 
tailed account  of  London's  latest  fad  in  "treatment"; 
and  Lucinda's  thoughts  turned  back  to  her  other  self, 
insensibly  her  identity  receded  into  and  merged  with  its 
identity  again  and  became  lost  in  its  preoccupations. 

How  to  go  on,  how  to  play  out  this  farce  of  a  life  with 
Bel  when  faith  in  him  was  dead  ? 

Strange  that  faith  should  have  been  shattered  finally 
by  such  a  minor  accident  as  her  overhearing  that  morn- 
ing's treachery.  As  if  it  had  been  the  first  time  she  had 
known  Bel  to  be  guilty  of  disloyalty  to  her!  But  today 
she  could  not  forget  that  neither  love  nor  any  kindly 
feeling  for  his  wife,  nor  even  scruples  of  self-respect, 
but  only  dread  of  a  contretemps  had  decided  Bel  against 
lunching  Amelie  in  that  very  room,  making  open  show  of 
his  infatuation  before  all  those  people  who  knew  them 
both  and  who,  being  human,  must  have  gloated,  nudged, 
and  tittered ;  who,  for  all  Lucinda  knew  to  the  contrary, 
were  even  now  jeering  behind  their  hands,  because  they 
knew  things  about  Bel  and  his  gallivantings  which  all 
the  world  knew  but  his  wife.  Even  the  servants ! 

Her  cheeks  kindled  with  indignation — and  blazed  still 
more  ardently  when  she  discovered  that  she  had,  in  her 
abstraction,  been  staring  squarely  at  Richard  Daubeney, 
who  was  lunching  with  friends  at  a  nearby  table. 

But  Dobbin  bowed  and  smiled  in  such  a  way  that 
Lucinda's  confusion  and  her  sense  of  grievance  were 
drowned  under  by  a  wave  of  gratitude.  She  nodded 
brightly  and  gave  him  a  half-laughing  glance. 

Good  old  Dobbin!  She  had  never  appreciated  how 
much  she  was  missing  him  till  he  had  turned  up  again 
last  night  and  offered  to  take  his  old  place  in  her  life, 
on  the  old  terms  as  nearly  as  might  be,  the  old  terms  as 
necessarily  modified  by  her  own  change  of  status. 

What  a  pity ! 

Those  three  words  were  so  clearly  sighed  in  her  mental 
hearing  that  Lucinda,  fearing  lest  she  had  uttered  them 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  37 

aloud,  hastily  consulted  the  faces  of  her  companions. 
But  they  had  exhausted  the  subject  of  reducing  regimes 
and  passed  on  naturally — seeing  that  Nelly  and  Jean  were 
approaching  that  stage  when  such  matters  become  mo- 
mentous— to  that  of  "facials." 

"...  Parr's  fuller's  earth  and  witch  hazel.  Make 
a  thick  paste  of  it  and  add  a  few  drops  of  tincture  of  ben- 
zoin, then  simply  plaster  it  all  over  your  face,  but  be  care- 
ful not  to  get  it  near  your  eyes,  and  let  it  dry.  It  only 
takes  a  few  minutes  to  harden,  and  then  you  crack  and 
peel  it  off,  and  it  leaves  your  skin  like  a  baby's." 

"Elizabeth  Baird  charges  twenty-five  dollars  a  treat- 
ment." 

"But  my  dear,  you  can  see  for  yourself  how  stupid  it 
is  to  pay  such  prices  to  a  beauty  specialist  when  the  ma- 
terials cost  only  a  few  cents  at  any  drug-store,  and  any- 
body can  apply  it,  your  maid  if  you  don't  want  to  take 
the  trouble  yourself."  .  .  . 

What  a  pity! 

But  was  it?  Would  she  have  been  happier  married 
to  Dobbin?  Was  it  reasonable  to  assume  that  Dobbin 
would  not  have  developed  in  the  forcing  atmosphere  of 
matrimony  traits  quite  as  difficult  as  Bel's  to  deal  with? 
In  this  wrong-headed  world  nobody  was  beyond  criti- 
cism, and  anybody's  faults,  condonable  though  they  might 
seem  at  a  distance,  could  hardly  fail  of  exaggeration  into 
vices  through  daily  observation  at  close  range.  Impossible 
to  imagine  any  two  human  creatures  living  together,  after 
the  first  raptures  had  begun  to  wane,  without  getting  on 
each  other's  nerves  now  and  then. 

Wasn't  the  fault,  then,  more  with  the  institution  than 
with  the  individuals  ? 

Lucinda  remembered  having  once  heard  a  physician  of 
psycho-analytic  bent  commit  himself  to  the  statement 
that  in  ten  years  of  active  professional  life  he  had  never 
entered  one  menage  where  two  people  lived  in  wedded 
happiness.  And  sifting  a  list  of  married  acquaintances, 


38  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

Luanda  found  it  not  safe  to  say  of  one  that  he  or  she 
was  happy;  of  most  it  was  true  that  they  had  the  best 
of  reasons  for  being  unhappy.  It  was  true  of  Nelly 
Guest  and  Jean  Sedley,  it  was  true  of  herself,  doubtless 
it  was  true  of  Fanny.  Lucinda  had  yet  to  meet  Lontaine, 
and  if  Fanny's  looks  were  fair  criterion,  she  was  the 
most  carefree  of  women ;  and  yet  ... 

Fanny  caught  Lucinda  eyeing  her  and  smiled. 

"What  under  the  sun  are  you  thinking  about  so  sol- 
emnly, Cindy?" 

"You,  dear.  You  haven't  told  me  anything  about  your- 
self yet." 

"No  chance.  Give  me  half  a  show" — Fanny  glanced 
askance  at  Jean  and  Nelly,  now  amiably  engaged  in 
bickering  about  the  merits  of  various  modistes — "and  you 
shall  know  All." 

"I'd  dearly  love  to.  You  must  lunch  with  me  at  home 
some  day  soon ;  and  then  I  want  you  and  your  husband  to 
dine  with  us — say  next  Thursday?" 

"I  don't  know.  That's  one  of  the  exciting  things  about 
being  married  to  Harry  Lontaine,  one  never  knows  what 
tomorrow  will  bring  iorth.  We've  got  to  go  to  Chicago 
soon,  because — daresay  you  know — father  relented  enough 
to  leave  me  a  little  legacy,  nothing  to  brag  about,  but 
nothing  people  in  our  position  can  afford  to  despise, 
either." 

Lucinda  made  a  sympathetic  face  and  said  something 
vague  about  everybody  in  England  still  feeling  the  pinch 
of  the  War.  But  Fanny  elected  to  scorn  generaliza- 
tions. 

"Oh,  the  only  effect  the  War  could  have  had  on  our 
fortunes  would  have  been  to  kill  off  the  half  a  dozen  rela- 
tives that  stand  between  Harry  and  the  title.  But  he  was 
out  of  luck — served  three  years  in  France  and  Flanders 
and  got  all  shot  up  and  decorated  with  the  dearest  little 
tin  medals  on  the  prettiest  ribbons,  while  his  precious  kins- 


LINDA  LEE    INC.  39 

men  held  down  cushy  berths  in  the  Munitions  and  kept 
in  training  for  the  longevity  record." 

"But  how  proud  you  must  have  been !" 

'"Of  Harry?  On  account  of  his  decorations?  My 
dear:  heroes  are  three-a-penny  in  England  today.  You 
see,  everybody,  more  or  less,  barring  Harry's  family,  had 
a  shot  at  active  service,  just  as  almost  everybody  has  a 
shot  at  marriage  sooner  or  later ;  only,  of  course,  the  per- 
centage of  unscarred  survivors  of  the  War  was  higher." 

(Fanny,  too !    What  a  world !) 

"For  all  that,  I  do  want  to  meet  your  husband." 

"You  will,  soon  enough.  He's  lunching  some  men 
down  in  the  grill,  a  business  luncheon,  American  cinema 
people;  and  I  told  him  when  he  got  rid  of  them  to  wait 
for  me  in  the  lounge.  Very  likely  we'll  find  him  there  on 
our  way  out." 

"How  nice.  He's  interested  in  the  motion-picture  busi- 
ness then?" 

"In  a  way.  That  is,  he  was,  in  England,  for  a  while, 
after  the  War.  And  when  we  decided  to  come  over 
about  my  legacy,  he  secured  options  on  the  American 
rights  to  some  Swedish  productions.  Somebody  told  him 
you  were  having  a  run  on  foreign  films  over  here,  so 
Harry  said  he  might  as  well  try  to  turn  an  honest  penny. 
I  told  him  it  wouldn't  do  him  any  harm,  he'd  enjoy  the 
adventure." 

"I  see,"  said  Lucinda  a  bit  blankly.  "I  don't  know  much 
about  it,  of  course,  almost  never  go  to  see  a  motion  pic- 
ture; that  is,  unless  it's  Elsie  Ferguson,  I've  always  been 
mad  about  her." 

She  looked  round  to  the  waiter  who  was  substituting  a 
finger-bowl  for  her  neglected  sweet.  "We'll  all  want  coffee, 
Ernest,  and  you  may  bring  it  to  us  in  the  Palm  Room." 

"Four  demi-tasses:  yes,  Mrs.  Druce." 

"Nelly!  Jean!"  These  Lucinda  haled  forth  from  the 
noisome  morass  of  the  newest  divorce  scandal.  "Fanny's 


40  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

first  husband  is  waiting  for  her  in  the  lounge,  and  she's 
gettmg  nervous." 

"Good-looking,  I  suppose?"  Jean  Sedley  enquired,  and 
got  a  merry  nod  from  Fanny.  "She  ought  to  be  nervous. 
A  New  York  Winter  is  the  open  season  for  other  women's 
good-looking  husbands,  it  doesn't  do  to  leave  them  stand- 
ing round  loose — here  of  all  places  I" 


VI 

FANNY'S  husband  came  in  shortly  after  Lucinda  and 
her  guests  had  settled  down  to  coffee  and  cigarettes 
in  a  Palm  Room  now  rapidly  regaining  its  legitimate 
atmosphere  of  a  lounge,  as  the  extemporized  tables  were 
vacated,  dismantled,  and  spirited  away. 

He  fitted  so  neatly  into  the  mental  sketch  of  Lucinda's 
unconscious  preconception,  that  she  was  naturally  prej- 
udiced in  his  favour.  She  liked  Englishmen  of  that 
stamp,  even  if  the  stamp  was  open  to  criticism  as  some- 
thing stereotyped,  liked  their  manner  and  their  manners 
and  the  way  they  dressed,  with  an  effect  of  finish  care- 
lessly attained,  as  contrasted  with  the  tight  ornateness 
to  which  American  men  of  the  same  caste  are  so  largely 
prone. 

Tall  and  well  made,  Lontaine  had  the  good  colour  of 
men  who  care  enough  for  their  bodies  to  keep  them 
keen  and  clean  of  the  rust  that  comes  of  indoor  stodging. 
The  plump  and  closely  razored  face  seemed  perhaps  a 
shade  oversize  for  features  delicately  formed,  and  the 
blue  eyes  had  that  introspective  cast  which  sometimes 
means  imagination  and  frequently  means  nothing  at  all 
more  than  self-complacence.  He  affected  a  niggardly 
moustache,  and  when  he  spoke  full  lips  framed  his  words 
noticeably.  His  habit  was  that  of  a  man  at  ease  in  any 
company,  even  his  own,  who  sets  a  good  value  on  himself 
and  confidently  looks  for  its  general  acceptance. 

He  talked  well,  with  assurance,  some  humour,  and  a 

fair  amount  of  information.    He  had  lived  several  years 

in  the  States,  off  and  on,  and  on  the  whole  approved  of 

them.    In  fact,  he  might  say  there  were  only  two  sections 

41 


42  LINDA  LEE    INC. 

of  the  country  with  which  he  was  unacquainted,  the  South 
and  the  Pacific  Coast;  defects  in  a  cosmopolitan  educa- 
tion which  he  hoped  to  remedy  this  trip,  as  to  the  Coast 
at  least.  He  had  pottered  a  bit  with  the  cinema  at  home, 
and  it  was  just  possible  he  might  think  it  worth  his 
while  to  jog  out  to  Los  Angeles  and  see  what  was  to  be 
seen  in  that  capital  of  the  world's  motion-picture  industry. 
England,  he  didn't  mind  admitting,  had  a  goodish  bit  to 
learn  from  America  in  the  cinema  line.  They  were  far 
too  conservative,  the  cinema  lot  at  home,  behind  the  times 
and  on  the  cheap  to  a  degree  that  fairly  did  them  in  the 
eye  when  it  came  to  foreign  competition.  On  the  Con- 
tinent, too,  the  cinema  was  making  tremendous  strides, 
while  in  England  it  was  merely  marking  time.  If  you 
asked  Lontaine,  it  was  his  considered  belief  that  the  really 
top-hole  productions  of  the  future  would  come  of  combin- 
ing American  brilliance  of  photography  and  investure 
with  European  thoroughness  in  acting  and  direction. 

This  by  no  means  unintelligent  forecast  was  uttered 
with  an  authority  that  impressed  even  Lucinda,  elaborate- 
ly uninterested  as  she  was.  Conscious  of  a  rather  pleas- 
ing deference  in  Lontaine,  who  was  addressing  himself  to 
her  more  directly  than  to  any  of  the  others,  she  maintained 
a  half-smile  of  amiable  attention  which  would  have  de- 
ceived a  sharper  man,  and  let  her  thoughts  drift  on  dreary 
tides  of  discontent. 

Hour  by  hour  the  conviction  was  striking  its  roots 
more  deeply  into  her  comprehension  that  life  with  Bel 
on  the  present  terms  was  unthinkable.  And  yet — what  to 
do  about  it  ?  She  hadn't  the  remotest  notion.  Obviously 
she  would  have  to  arrive  somehow  at  some  sort  of  an  un- 
derstanding with  Bel.  But  how  ?  The  one  way  she  knew 
had  failed  her.  And  she  knew  no  one  to  confide  in  or 
consult. 

Her  father  had  died  several  years  before  her  marriage, 
her  mother  soon  after.  Of  her  immediate  family  there 
remained  only  an  elder  sister,  married  and  living  in  Italy. 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  43 

She  saw  herself  a  puny  figure,  with  only  her  bare  wits 
and  naked  need  for  allies,  struggling  to  save  her  soul 
alive  from  a  social  system  like  a  Molock  of  the  moderns, 
a  beast-god  man  has  builded  out  of  all  that  he  holds  hate- 
ful, all  his  fears  and  lusts  and  malice,  envy,  cruelty  and 
injustice,  and  to  which,  having  made  it,  he  bows  down  in 
awe  and  worship,  sacrificing  to  it  all  that  he  loves  best,  all 
that  makes  life  sweet  and  fair  .  .  . 

A  losing  fight.  One  were  mad  to  hope  to  win.  Already 
Bel  was  lost,  caught  in  the  mad  dance  of  the  system's 
bacchants,  already  drunkard  and  debauchee  .  .  .  Nor 
might  all  her  love  redeem  him  .  .  .  And  O  the  pity ! 

Aware  of  pain  welling  in  her  bosom,  a  sense  of  suffoca- 
tion, tears  starting  to  her  eyes,  she  jumped  up  hastily 
lest  her  friends  should  see,  mumbled  an  excuse,  and  made 
her  way  out  to  the  foyer,  turning  toward  the  women's 
cloak-room. 

A  few  moments  alone  would  restore  equanimity,  a  little 
rouge  and  powder  mend  the  wear  of  her  emotions. 

The  foyer  was  still  fairly  thronged ;  she  was  almost  in 
Bel's  arms  before  she  saw  him,  so  near  to  him,  when 
she  stopped  in  shocked  recognition  of  his  grimace  of  af- 
fection, that  she  caught,  as  she  started  back,  a  heavy 
whiff  of  breath  whiskey-flavoured. 

She  heard  him  say,  "Why,  hello,  Linda!  what's  the 
hurry  ?"  and  cut  in  instantly  with  a  gasp  of  indignation : 
"What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"Thought  I'd  look  in  on  your  party.  You  know,  you 
asked  me " 

She  could  not  trust  her  tongue.  If  she  said  more  in 
her  anger,  she  would  say  too  much,  considering  that  time 
and  place,  lose  what  poor  vestiges  of  self-control  remained 
to  her,  make  a  scene.  She  cried  all  in  a  breath :  "Well,  go 
away,  then !  I  don't  want  you,  I  won't  have  you !" — and 
pushing  past  Bel,  fled  into  the  cloak-room. 

He  lingered  half  a  minute,  with  perplexed  eyes  meeting 
the  amused  stares  of  those  who  had  been  near  enough  to 


44  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

catch  an  inkling  of  the  altercation ;  then  drew  himself  up 
sharply  and  ironed  out  all  indications  of  his  embarrass- 
ment, assuming  what  he  believed  to  be  a  look  of  haughty 
indifference. 

But  he  was  hurt,  stricken  to  the  heart  by  Lucinda's 
treatment.  He  couldn't  think  what  he'd  done  to  deserve 
it,  he  felt  sure  she  couldn't  have  noticed  the  few  drinks 
that  had  constituted  luncheon  for  him.  But  whatever 
had  been  the  matter,  obviously  it  was  up  to  him  to  find 
some  way  to  placate  Linda.  He  was  through  with  Amelie 
and  all  such  foolishness,  from  now  on  he  was  going  to 
be  good  to  Linda;  and  it  wouldn't  do  at  all  to  begin  his 
new  life  by  getting  on  the  outs  with  her. 

His  gaze  focused  intelligently  upon  the  glass  case  that 
displays  the  wares  of  the  hotel  florist.  Women  liked 
flowers.  But  there  were  four  in  Linda's  party,  her  guests 
would  think  it  funny  if  he  joined  them  bringing  flowers 
for  his  wife  only  ...  A  tough  problem.  He  decided 
to  step  round  to  the  club  and  mull  it  over  .  .  . 

He'  had  disappeared  by  the  time  Lucinda  felt  fit  to 
show  herself  again.  Inwardly  still  forlorn  and  disconsol- 
ate, but  outwardly  mistress  of  herself,  she  resumed  her 
chair;  and  had  hardly  done  so  when  she  saw  Richard 
Daubeney  pass  by  with  his  luncheon  party,  pause  at 
the  door  and  take  leave,  then  turn  back  and  make  directly 
for  her  corner.  And  instantaneously  Lucinda  experi- 
enced a  slight  psychic  shock  and  found  herself  again 
the  individual  self-contained,  the  young  woman  of  the 
world  whom  nothing  could  dismay. 

Dobbin  knew  everybody  except  the  Lontaines;  and 
when  the  flutter  created  by  his  introduction  had  subsided, 
he  found  a  chair  by  Lucinda's  side  and  quietly  occupied 
himself  with  a  cigarette  until  the  conversation  swung 
back  to  the  pageant ;  whereupon  he  took  deft  advantage 
of  the  general  interest  in  that  topic  to  detach  Lucinda's 
attention. 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  45 

"I  couldn't  resist  the  temptation  to  butt  in,  Cinda. 
Hope  you  don't  mind." 

"I  do,  though,  fearfully.    It's  always  nice  to  see  you." 

"Many  thanks.  Appreciation  makes  up  for  a  lot  of 
neglect." 

"Poor  old  soul :  somebody  been  neglecting  you  again  ?" 

"Somebody's  always  neglecting  me  and  my  affectionate 
disposition.  That's  why  I've  wiggled  to  your  side,  wag- 
ging a  friendly  tail,  ready  to  lick  your  hand  at  the  first 
sign  of  an  inclination  to  adopt  me." 

Lucinda  eyed  him  in  grave  distrust.  "Dobbin :  are  you 
trying  to  start  something  ?  I  thought  we'd  settled  all  that 
last  night,  agreed  I  wasn't  in  a  position  to  adopt  stray 
men,  no  matter  how  nice." 

"That  was  last  night.  You've  had  time  to  sleep  on  it. 
Lots  of  things  can  come  up  overnight  to  change  a  woman's 
mind.  Don't  tell  me:  I  can  see  something  unusual  has 
happened." 

"Oh!  you  can?" 

"Don't  be  alarmed :  you're  not  wearing  your  heart  on 
your  sleeve.  I  can  see  you're  troubled  about  something, 
simply  because  I  know  you  so  much  better  than  anybody 
else.  Oh,  yes,  I  do.  You  never  knew  how  thoroughly  I 
studied  you  in  the  dear,  dead  days  of  yore.  I'll  lay  long 
odds  no  one  else  has  noticed  anything,  but  to  my  seeing 
eye  you've  been  flying  signals  of  distress  all  during 
luncheon.  That  being  so,  it  wouldn't  be  decent  of  me  not 
to  give  you  a  hail  and  stand  by  in  case  I'm  needed — now 
would  it  ?" 

Momentarily  Lucinda  contended  against  temptation. 
Then,  "You  are  a  dear,  Dobbin,"  she  said  almost  regret- 
fully. "But  it  isn't  fair  of  you  to  see  too  much.  If  it's 
true  I  have  secrets  I  don't  want  to  share,  it  would  be 
kinder  to  let  me  keep  them — don't  you  think  ?" 

"Lord  bless  you,  yes !  But  it's  my  observation  the 
human  being  in  trouble  has  got  to  talk  to  somebody,  and 
will  to  the  wrong  body  if  the  right  isn't  handy.  Not  only 


46  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

that,  but  you'll  find  most  people  will  listen  to  your  troubles 
only  to  get  a  chance  to  tell  you  their  own ;  whereas  I  have 
none  except  the  one  you  know  all  about.  So  you  needn't 
fear  reprisals." 

She  pondered  this,  sweetly  serious,  then  in  little  better 
than  a  whisper  said :  "At  least,  not  now  ..." 

Jean  Sedley  was  claiming  her  attention.  "What  do  you 
think  of  that,  Cindy  ?  Isn't  it  a  ripping  idea  ?" 

"Afraid  I  didn't  hear — I  was  flirting  with  Dobbin." 

"Yes,  I  know.  But  Mr.  Lontaine  has  just  made  a 
priceless  suggestion  about  the  pageant.  He  says  we  can 
have  moving-pictures  taken  as  we  enter  the  ballroom 
and  shown  before  the  evening  is  over." 

"But  is  that  possible  ?" 

"Oh,  quite,"  Lontaine  insisted — "assure  you.  It's  really 
extraordinary  how  they  do  these  things,  three  or  four 
hours  is  all  they  require  to  develop  and  prepare  a  film 
for  projection.  Say  your  pageant  starts  at  ten:  by  one 
you  can  see  yourself  on  the  screen." 

"Everybody  would  adore  it!"  Nelly  Guest  declared 
with  deep  conviction. 

"And  you  could  arrange  it,  Mr.  Lontaine  ?" 

"Easily,  Mrs.  Druce — that  is  to  say,  if  I'm  still  in  New 
York." 

"What  do  you  think,  Cindy?"  Jean  urged.  "Almost 
everybody  is  moving-picture  mad.  We  could  sell  twice 
as  many  tickets  on  the  strength  of  such  a  novelty.  And 
it  is  a  charity  affair,  you  know." 

"Meaning  to  say,"  Dobbin  put  in,  "you're  rather  keen 
about  it  yourself." 

"Of  course — crazy  to  see  myself  as  others  see  me.  So 
is  every  woman — Fanny,  Jean,  Cindy " 

"I  don't  know,"  Lucinda  demurred.  "It  must  be  a 
weird  sensation." 

"Not  one  you  need  be  afraid  of,"  Lontaine  promised. 
"If  you  don't  mind  my  saying  so,  you  would  screen  won- 
derfully, Mrs.  Druce." 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  47 

"You  think  so,  really?" 

"Oh,  no  doubt  about  it,  whatever.  You're  just  the 
type  the  camera  treats  most  kindly.  If  you  wanted  to, 
you  could  make  a  fortune  in  the  cinema.  No,  seriously : 
I'm  not  joking." 

"I'm  glad  of  that,"  Lucinda  returned  soberly.  "It 
wouldn't  be  at  all  nice  of  you  to  trifle  with  my  young 
affections.  Still,  I  will  admit  I'm  skeptical." 

"Tell  you  what,"  Lontaine  offered  eagerly:  "Suppose 
you  take  test,  what?  No  trouble  at  all  to  fix  it  up  for 
you — chaps  I  know — only  too  glad — anything  I  say.  I'd 
like  to  prove  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about.  Take  us 
all,  for  that  matter,  just  as  we  are.  What  do  you  say?" 

"I  say  it's  perfectly  damn'  splendid!"  Jean  Sedley 
declared.  "We'd  all  love  it.  When  can  you  arrange  it?" 

"Any  time  you  like — this  afternoon,  if  that  suits  every- 
body. Only  have  to  telephone,  and  in  half  an  hour  they'll 
be  all  ready  for  us.  Shall  I  ?"  Lontaine  got  out  of  his 
chair.  "Do  say  yes,  all  of  you.  Mrs.  Druce?  I  know 
the  others  will  if  you  do  ?" 

"I  don't  mind     ..." 

"Right-O !    Give  me  five  minutes    .    .    „  " 


VII 

LONTAINE  brought  back  a  gratified  countenance  from 
the  telephone  booths.  As  he  had  promised,  so  had  he 
performed.  This  cinema  chap  he  knew,  Gulp,  had  pro- 
fessed himself  only  too  delighted.  Rum  name,  what? 
A  rum  customer,  if  you  asked  Lontaine,  diamond  in  the 
rough  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  one  of  the  biggest  guns 
in  the  American  cinema  to  boot. 

Dobbin  wanted  to  know  if  Mr.  Gulp  wasn't  the  hus- 
band of  Alma  Daley,  the  motion-picture  actress.  Lon- 
taine said  he  was.  Extraordinary  pair.  Married  a  few 
years  ago  when  they  were  both  stoney,  absolutely.  Now 
look  at  them ;  Gulp  a  millionaire  and  better,  Miss  Daley 
one  of  the  most  popular  stars.  You  might  say  he'd  made 
her  and  she'd  made  him.  Showed  the  value  of  team-work 
in  marriage,  what?  You  pulled  together,  and  nothing 
could  stop  you.  You  pulled  in  opposite  directions,  and 
what  happened?  You  stood  still!  What? 

(Lucinda  remarked  the  patient  smile  with  which  Fanny 
listened.  But  repetition  is,  after  all,  a  notorious  idiosyn- 
crasy of  the  married  male.) 

Charming  little  woman,  Miss  Daley.  As  it  happened, 
she  was  working  in  a  picture  at  the  studio  now.  Rare 
luck ;  they'd  get  a  look  in  at  practical  producing  methods 
in  addition  to  getting  shot  for  their  tests.  Not  bad,  what  ? 

Somebody  echoed  "shot"  with  a  puzzled  inflection.  But 
that  term,  it  appeared,  was  studio  slang;  one  was  shot 
when  one  was  photographed  by  a  motion-picture  camera. 
No  doubt  because  they  first  aimed  the  camera  at  one, 
then  turned  the  crank — like  a  machine-gun,  Lontaine 
meant  to  say. 

48 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  49 

Lucinda  discovered  that  it  was  already  three  o'clock, 
and  wondered  how  long  they  would  need  to  get  properly 
shot.  Lontaine  protested  it  would  take  no  time  at  all. 
Astonishing  chaps,  these  American  cinema  people,  abso- 
lutely full  of  push  and  bounce,  did  everything  in  jig-time, 
if  you  knew  what  he  meant. 

With  two  cars  at  its  disposal,  the  party  split  up  into 
threes,  Mrs.  Sedley,  Mrs.  Guest,  and  Lontaine  leading  the 
way.  On  the  point  of  entering  her  own  car  after  Fanny, 
however,  Lucinda  recalled  her  promise  to  look  in  at  the 
bridge-tea  for  the  Italian  Milk  Fund,  and  bidding  Dobbin 
keep  Fanny  amused  while  they  waited  for  her,  turned  back 
into  the  hotel  to  telephone  Mrs.  Wade  that  she  would  be 
a  little  late. 

Having  seen  no  more  of  Bellamy  since  their  encounter 
near  the  cloak-room,  she  had  assumed  that  he  had  taken 
her  at  her  word,  and  had  dismissed  from  her  calculations 
the  possibility  of  his  returning.  The  surprise  was  so 
much  the  more  unwelcome,  consequently,  when  on  leaving 
the  telephone  booth  she  saw  her  husband  with  his  hat  on 
the  back  of  his  head  and  his  arms  full  of  lavender  orchids, 
wavering  irresolutely  in  the  entrance  to  the  Palm  Room, 
surveying  with  a  dashed  expression  its  now  all  but  de- 
serted spaces;  a  festive  spectacle  that  left  no  room  for 
surmise  as  to  what  he  had  been  up  to.  And  with  sicken- 
ing contempt  added  to  the  bitterness  already  rankling  in 
her  heart,  Lucinda  made  hastily  for  the  revolving  door. 

Simultaneously  Bel  caught  sight  of  her  and,  with  a 
blurred  travesty  of  his  really  charming  smile,  and  a  falter- 
ing parody  of  that  air  of  gallant  alacrity  which  she  had 
once  thought  so  engaging,  moved  to  intercept  Lucinda. 
And  finding  her  escape  cut  off,  she  paused  and  awaited 
him  with  a  stony  countenance. 

"Ah !  there  you  are,  eh,  Linda !  'Fraid  I'd  missed  you. 
Sorry  couldn't  get  back  sooner,  but " 

"I'm  not,"  Lucinda  interrupted. 

"Had  to  go  over  to  Thorley's  tq  find  these  orchids 


50  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

..."  Bel  extended  his  burden  as  if  to  transfer  it  to 
Luanda's  arms  and,  when  she  prevented  this  by  falling 
back  a  pace,  looked  both  pained  and  puzzled.  "Ah — what 
say?  What's  matter?" 

"I  said,"  Lucinda  replied  icily,  "I'm  not  sorry  you 
couldn't  get  here  sooner.  Surely  you  can't  imagine  I'd 
care  to  have  my  friends  see  you  as  you  are,  in  the  middle 
of  the  afternoon.  It's  bad  enough  to  have  them  know 
you  get  in  this  condition  nearly  every  night." 

"But — look  here,  Linda:    be  reasonable " 

"I  think  I  have  been — what  you  call  reasonable — long 
enough — too  long !" 

Bellamy  hesitated,  nervously  moistening  his  lips,  glanc- 
ing sidelong  this  way  and  that.  But  there  was  nobody 
in  the  foyer  at  the  moment  but  themselves ;  even  the  coat- 
room  girls  had  retired  to  their  office  and  were  well  out 
of  ear-shot  of  the  quiet  conversational  key  which,  for  all 
her  indignation,  Lucinda  had  adopted.  For  all  of  which 
the  man  should  have  been  abjectly  grateful.  Instead  of 
which  (such  is  the  wicked  way  of  drink)  Bellamy  took 
heart  of  these  circumstances,  their  temporary  isolation 
and  Lucinda's  calculated  quietness,  and  offered  to  bluster 
it  out. 

"Here — take  these  flowers,  won't  you  ?  Plenty  for  you 
and  all  your  friends.  Tha's  what  kept  me  so  long — had 
to  go  all  over  to  find  enough." 

Again  Lucinda  defeated  his  attempt  to  disburden  him- 
self. "Oh,  Bel !"  she  cried  sadly — "how  can  you  be  such 
a  fool?" 

"How'm  I  a  fool  ?  Like  flowers,  don't  you  ?  Thought 
I  was  going  to  please  you  .  .  .  And  this  is  what  I 
get!"  ' 

"You  know  all  the  orchids  in  New  York  couldn't  make 
tip  for  your  drinking." 

"Why  cut  up  so  nasty  about  a  little  drink  or  two? 
Way  you  talk,  anyone'd  think  I  was  reeling." 

"You  will  be  before  night,  if  you  keep  this  up." 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  SI 

"Well,  I'm  not  going  to  keep  it  up.  I've  made  arrange- 
ments to  have  the  afternoon  free,  just  to  be  with  you. 
We'll  go  somewhere — do  something " 

"Thank  you :    I'd  rather  not." 

"Don't  talk  rot."  Most  unwisely,  Bellamy  essayed  the 
masterful  method.  "Of  course  we'll  go  some  place " 

"We  will  not,"  Lucinda  told  him  inflexibly.  "My  after- 
noon is  booked  full  up  already,  and " 

"Where  you  going?    I  don't  mind  tagging  along " 

"Sorry,  but  I  don't  want  you." 

Injudiciously  again,  Bellamy  elected  to  show  his  teeth, 
stepped  closer  to  Lucinda  and  with  ugly  deliberation  de- 
manded :  "See  here :  where  you  going  ?  I've  got  a  right 
to  know " 

"Have  you,  Bel?  Think  again.  I  never  ask  you  such 
questions.  If  I  did,  you'd  either  lose  your  temper  or 
lie  to  me,  and  justify  yourself  by  asserting  that  no  man 
ought  to  be  asked  to  stand  prying  into  his  affairs.  So — 
I  leave  you  to  your  affairs — and  only  ask  that  you  leave 
me  to  mine." 

"Meaning  you  won't  tell  me  where  you're  going  ?" 

Lucinda  shrugged  and  turned  away ;  but  Bellamy  swung 
in  between  her  and  the  exit. 

"See  here,  Linda!  there  are  limits  to  my  patience." 

"And  to  mine — and  you  have  found  them.    Let  me  go." 

She  didn't  move,  but  her  face  had  lost  colour,  her  eyes 
had'  grown  dangerous.  Neither  spoke  in  that  clash  of 
wills  until  Bellamy's  weakened,  his  eyes  shifted,  and  he 
stepped  aside,  slightly  sobered. 

"Please!"  he  begged  in  a  turn  of  penitence.  "Didn't 
mean  .  .  .  Frightfully  sorry  if  I've  been  an  ass;  but 
— you  know — pretty  well  shot  to  pieces  last  night — had  to 
pull  myself  together  somehow  to  talk  business  at 
luncheon " 

"Oh!  it  was  a  business  luncheon,  then?"  asked  Lu- 
cinda sweetly,  pausing. 

"Of  course." 


62  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

With  an  ominous  smile  she  commented :  "It  has  come 
to  that  already,  has  it?" 

"Ah — what  d'you  mean?" 

"Since  you  tell  me  it  was  a  business  luncheon,  you  leave 
me  to  infer  that  your  affair  with  Amelie  has  reached  the 
point  where  you  take  her  to  the  Clique  Club  to  talk 
terms."  Bellamy's  jaw  sagged,  his  eyes  were  dashed  with 
consternation.  "What  else  do  you  wish  me  to  think, 
Bellamy  ?" 

He  made  a  pitiable  effort  to  pull  himself  together. 
"Look  here,  Linda:  you're  all  wrong  about  this — misin- 
formed. I  can  explain " 

"You  forget  I  know  all  your  explanations,  Bel;  I've 
heard  them  all  too  often !" 

"But — but  you  must  give  me  a  chance!  Damn  it,  you 
can't  refuse !" 

"Can't  I  ?  Go  home,  Bel,  get  some  sleep.  When  you 
wake  up,  if  you  still  think  you  have  anything  to  say — 
consider  it  carefully  before  you  ask  me  to  listen.  Re- 
member what  I  tell  you  now :  you've  lied  to  me  for  the 
last  time,  one  more  lie  will  end  everything  between  us, 
finally  and  for  all  time !" 

Conscious  though  she  was  that  her  wrath  was  righteous, 
she  experienced  an  instant  of  irresolution,  of  yielding  and 
pity  excited  by  the  almost  dog-like  appeal  in  his  eyes.  But 
immediately  she  remembered  Amelie,  hardened  her  heart 
and,  leaving  him  agape,  pushed  through  the  door  to  the 
street. 

And  instantly  she  effected  one  of  those  shifts  of  which 
few  but  the  sensitive  know  the  secret,  who  must  hide  their 
hurts  from  alien  eyes  though  they  spend  all  their  strength 
in  the  effort;  instantly  she  sloughed  every  sign  of  her 
anger  and  with  smiling  face  went  to  rejoin  Fanny  and 
Dobbin. 

As  soon  as  she  appeared  the  latter  jumped  out  of  the 
car  and  offered  his  hand.  He  said  something  in  a  jocular 
vein,  and  Lucinda  must  have  replied  to  the  point,  for  she 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  53 

heard  him  chuckle ;  but  she  could  not,  a  minute  later,  re- 
collect one  word  of  what  had  passed  between  them. 

With  her  hand  resting  on  Dobbin's  she  glanced  back 
and  saw  Bellamy — still  with  his  armful  of  orchids — 
emerge  from  the  hotel.  He  halted,  his  face  darkening 
as  he  watched  Daubeney  follow  Lucinda  into  the  car.  It 
drew  away  quickly,  giving  him  no  chance  to  see  for  him- 
self that  it  held  another  passenger. 

He  stood  still  upon  the  steps,  deep  in  sombre  and  cha- 
grined reflection,  till  a  touch  on  his  arm  and  a  civil  "Par- 
don !"  roused  him  to  the  fact  that  he  was  obstructing  the 
fairway.  As  he  moved  aside  he  was  hailed  by  name. 
-  "Well,  I'm  damned!  Bellamy  Druce  drunk,  dressed 
up,  and  highly  perfumed." 

In  his  turn,  he  recognized  the  speaker,  a  personage  of 
the  theatrical  world  with  modest  social  aspirations  and  a 
noble  cellar. 

"Why,  hello,  Whittington !"  said  Bellamy,  smiling  in 
spite  of  his  disgruntlement,  to  see  that  carved  mask  of  a 
wise  clown  upturned  to  his.  "All  by  yourself?  What's 
happened  to  the  girl  crop  you  should  be  so  lonesome?" 

Without  direct  reply,  Mr.  Freddie  Whittington  linked 
his  arm  and  began  to  walk  toward  Fifth  avenue. 

"Just  the  man  I'm  looking  for,"  he  declared  without  a 
smile.  "Come  along.  Got  a  thousand  women  I  want  you 
to  meet  'safternoon.  They'll  take  care  of  your  orchids." 

"Well,"  Bellamy  conceded,  "that  sounds  reasonable. 
But  what  do  you  say,  we  drop  in  at  the  Club  ?  Got  some- 
thing there  won't  do  us  any  good — in  my  locker." 


VIII 

ON  the  far  West  Side,  well  beyond  the  drab  iron  ar- 
ticulation of  the  Ninth  Avenue  Elevated,  in  a  region 
of  New  York  whose  every  aspect  was  foreign  to  Lucinda's 
eyes,  the  brougham  drew  to  a  shuddering  stop,  in  thor- 
oughbred aversion  to  such  surroundings,  before  a  row  of 
blank-avised  brick  buildings  whose  fagades  of  varying 
heights  and  widths  showed  them  to  have  been  originally 
designed  for  diverse  uses.  That  they  were  today,  how- 
ever, united  in  one  service  was  proved  by  the  legend  that 
linked  them  together,  letters  of  black  on  a  broad  white 
band  running  from  end  to  end  of  the  row  beneath  its 
second-story  windows : 

ALMA  DALEY  STUDIOS — GULP  CINEMAS  INC.- — 
BEN  GULP,  PRES'T. 

Across  the  way  unsightly  tenements  grinned  like  a 
company  of  draggletail  crones  who  had  heard  a  rare  lot 
about  the  goings-on  of  picture  actors  and,  through  this 
happy  accident  of  propinquity,  were  in  a  position  to  tell 
the  world  it  didn't  know  the  half  of  it.  Children  liberally 
embellished  with  local  colour  swarmed  on  sidewalks  where 
ash  and  garbage-cans  flourished  in  subtropical  luxuriance, 
and  disputed  the  roadway  with  the  ramshackle  wagons 
and  push-carts  of  peddlers,  horse-drawn  drays,  and  grind- 
ing, gargantuan  motor-trucks  that  snarled  ferociously  at 
the  aliens,  the  frail,  pretty  pleasure  cars  from  Fifth  ave- 
nue. Apparently  an  abattoir  was  languishing  nearby,  dis- 
couraged in  its  yearning  to  lose  consciousness  of  self  in 
the  world's  oblivion.  At  the  end  of  the  street  the  Hudsori 
54 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  55 

ran,  a  glimpse  of  incredible  blue  furrowed  by  snowy 
wakes. 

Such  the  nursery  in  which  what  Mr.  Gulp  (or  his  press 
agent)  had  brilliantly  imaged  as  the  youngest,  fairest 
sister  of  the  plastic  arts  was  fostering  the  finest  flower  of 
its  expression,  to  wit,  the  artistry  of  Alma  Daley  .  .  . 

"Like  a  lily  springing  from  the  mire,"  Fanny  Lontaine 
murmured. 

Lucinda  laughed  and  gave  Fanny's  arm  a  mock-pinch, 
grateful  for  any  gleam  of  wit  to  lighten  life's  dull  firma- 
ment. The  temper  in  which  she  had  left  Bel  at  the  Ritz 
had  been  quick  to  cool;  and  though  its  cooling  had  not 
affected  her  determination  to  brook  no  longer  his  miscon- 
duct, she  was  beginning  to  experience  premonitions  of 
that  debacle  whose  event  was  certain  if  this  breach,  so 
lately  opened,  were  to  widen. 

If  it  should  come  to  a  break  asunder,  what  would  be- 
come of  her?  of  the  home  she  loved  so  well?  and  what  of 
Bel,  whom  she  loved  best  of  all? 

In  the  eyes  of  Dobbin,  as  he  waited  for  her  at  the 
main  entrance  to  the  building,  she  read  too  shrewd  a 
question;  and  understanding  that  she  had  for  a  moment 
let  fall  her  mask,  she  hastily  resumed  that  show  of  deb- 
onair amusement  which  was  her  heart's  sole  shield 
against  the  tearing  beaks  and  talons  of  envy,  malice  and 
all  manner  of  uncharitableness. 

Fortunately  there  was  something  to  jog  her  sense  of 
humour  in  the  utter  absence  of  preparations  to  receive 
them,  such  as  Lontaine  had  confidently  promised. 

A  sense  of  hostility  made  itself  felt  even  in  the  bare 
antechamber,  a  vestibule  with  makeshift  walls  of  match- 
boarding,  and  for  all  features  a  wooden  bench,  a  card- 
board sign,  NO  CASTING  TODAY,  a  door  of  woven  iron  wire 
at  the  mouth  of  a  forbidding  tunnel,  and  a  window  which 
framed  the  head  of  a  man  with  gimlet  eyes,  a  permanent 
scowl,  and  a  cauliflower  ear. 

Interviewed  by  Lontaine,  this  one  grunted  skeptically 


56  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

but  consented  to  pass  on  the  name  and  message  to  some 
person  unseen,  then  resumed  his  louring  and  distrustful 
watch,  while  beyond  the  partition  the  professional  sing- 
song of  a  telephone  operator  made  itself  heard :  "Lis'n, 
sweetheart.  Mista  Fountain's  here  with  a  party,  says 
he's  got  'nappointmunt  with  Mista  Gulp  .  .  .  Wha* 
say?  .  .  .  Oh,  a'right,  dearie.  Say,  Sam:  tell  that 
party  Mista  Gulp's  into  a  conf'rince,  but  they  kin  go  up 
to  the  stage  if  they  wanta  an'  stick  around  till  he's  dis- 
'ngaged." 

With  every  symptom  of  disgust  the  faithful  watchdog 
pressed  a  button  on  the  window  ledge,  a  latch  clicked,  the 
wire  door  swung  back,  the  party  filed  through  and  in  twi- 
light stumbled  up  two  flights  of  creaking  steps  to  a  tiny 
landing  upon  which  a  number  of  doors  stood  all  closed, 
and  each  sternly  stencilled :  PRIVATE. 

After  a  moment  of  doubt  during  which  even  Lontaine 
began  to  show  signs  of  failing  patience,  one  of  the  doors 
opened  hastily  and  ejected  a  well-groomed,  nervously  in- 
gratiating young  man,  who  introduced  himself  as  Mr. 
Lane,  secretary  to  Mr.  Gulp,  and  said  he  had  been  dele- 
gated to  do  the  honours.  A  public-spirited  soul,  he  shook 
each  visitor  warmly  by  the  hand,  protested  that  he  was 
genuinely  pleased  to  meet  them  all,  then  threw  wide  an- 
other of  the  PRIVATE  doors. 

"This  is  the  main  stage,  ladies.  Miss  Daley  is  working 
on  one  of  the  sets  now,  making  the  final  scenes  for  her 
latest  picture,  'The  Girl  in  the  Dark' ;  so  if  you'll  be  kind 
enough  not  to  talk  out  loud  while  she's  before  the  camera 

.  .  .  Miss  Daley  is  very,  er,  temperamental,  y'under- 
stand  ..." 

Reverently  the  barbarians  obeyed  a  persuasive  wave  of 
Mr.  Lane's  hand  and  tiptoed  into  the  studio,  to  huddle  in  a 
considerately  awe-stricken  group  on  one  side  of  an  im- 
mense loft  with  a  high  roof  of  glass. 

Stage,  as  the  layman  understands  that  term,  there  was 
none ;  but  the  floor  space  as  a  whole  was  rather  elaborately 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  57 

cluttered  with  what  Lucinda  was  to  learn  were  technically 
known  as  "sets,"  in  various  stages  of  completion  and 
demolition ;  a  set  being  anything  set  up  to  be  photographed, 
from  a  single  "side"  or  "flat"  with  a  simple  window  or 
door,  or  an  "angle"  formed  of  two  such  sides  joined  to 
show  the  corner  of  a  room,  up  to  the  solid  and  pretentious 
piece  of  construction  which  occupied  fully  one-half  of 
the  loft  and  reproduced  the  Palm  Room  at  the  Ritz-Carl- 
ton,  not  without  discrepancies  to  be  noted  by  the  captious, 
but  by  no  means  without  fair  illusion. 

On  a  modest  set  near  at  hand,  apparently  a  bedchamber 
in  a  home  of  humble  fortunes,  a  bored  chambermaid  in 
checked  shirt  and  overalls,  with  a  cigarette  stuck  behind 
his  ear,  was  making  up  the  bed. 

In  another  quarter  a  number  of  workmen  were  noisily 
if  languidly  engaged  in  knocking  down  a  built  wall  of  real 
brick  and  lugging  away  sections  of  a  sidewalk  which  had 
bordered  it,  light  frames  of  wood  painted  to  resemble 
stone. 

At  the  far  end  of  the  room  a  substantial  set  represented 
a  living-room  that  matched  up  with  the  bedchamber  nearer 
at  hand,  or  seemed  to,  for  a  good  part  of  it  was  masked 
from  Lucinda's  view  by  a  number  of  massive  but  portable 
metal  screens  or  stands  arranged  in  two  converging  ranks, 
at  whose  apex  stood  a  heavy  tripod  supporting  a  small 
black  box.  To  these  stands  lines  of  insulated  cable  wan- 
dered over  the  floor  from  every  quarter  of  the  room.  Just 
back  of  the  tripod  several  men  were  lounging,  gazing  off 
at  the  set  with  an  air  of  listless  curiosity.  The  spaces 
between  the  screens  afforded  glimpses  of  figures  moving 
to  and  fro  with,  at  that  distance,  neither  apparent  purpose 
nor  animation. 

Elsewhere  about  the  studio,  in  knots,  by  twos  and  singly, 
some  twenty-five  or  thirty  men  and  women,  mostly  in 
grease-paint  and  more  or  less  convincing  afternoon  dress, 
were  lounging,  gossiping,  reading  newspapers,  or  simply 
and  beautifully  existing. 


58  LINDA   LEE' INC. 

An  enervating  atmosphere  of  apathy  pervaded  the  place, 
as  if  nothing  of  much  moment  to  anybody  present  was 
either  happening  or  expected  to  happen.  An  effect  to 
which  considerable  contribution  was  made  by  the  lugu- 
brious strains  of  a  three-piece  orchestra,  piano,  violin,  and 
'cello,  stationed  to  one  side  of  the  living-room  set. 

At  first  sight  this  trio  intrigued  Lucinda's  interest.  To 
her  its  presence  in  a  motion-picture  studio  seemed  unac- 
countable, but  not  more  so  than  patience  with  its  rendition 
of  plaintive  and  tremulous  melodies  of  a  bygone  period, 
tunes  which  one  more  familiar  with  the  cant  of  the  theatre 
would  unhesitatingly  have  classified  as  "sob  stuff,"  and  to 
which  nobody  appeared  to  be  paying  any  attention  what- 
ever. 

Mystified  to  the  point  of  fascination,  she  studied  the 
musicians  individually. 

The  pianist,  perched  sideways  on  his  stool  and  fingering 
the  keyboard  of  an  antique  upright  without  once  looking 
at  the  music  on  its  rack,  as  often  as  not  played  with  one 
hand  only,  using  the  other  to  manipulate  a  cigarette  which 
he  was  smoking  in  open  defiance  of  the  many  posted 
notices  that  forbade  this  practice. 

The  violinist,  stretched  out  with  ankles  crossed,  occu- 
pied a  common  kitchen  chair  which  his  body  touched  at 
two  places  only,  with  the  end  of  his  spine  and  the  nape  of 
his  neck.  His  eyes  were  half-shut,  his  bowing  suggested 
the  performance  of  a  somnambulist. 

The  'cellist,  too,  seemed  to  be  saved  from  falling  for- 
ward from  his  chair  solely  by  the  instrument  which  his 
knees  embraced.  His  head  drowsily  nodding  to  the  time, 
the  fingers  of  his  left  hand  automatically  stopped  the 
strings  at  which  his  right  arm  sawed  methodically.  An 
honest  soul,  a  journeyman  who  for  a  set  wage  had  con- 
tracted to  saw  so  many  chords  of  music  before  the  whistle 
blew  and  was  honestly  bent  on  doing  his  stint  .  .  . 

Mr.  Lane,  having  excused  himself  for  a  moment,  re- 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  69 

turned  from  consulting  some  member  of  the  group  round 
the  tripod. 

"  'Sail  right,"  he  announced  with  a  happy  smile.  "They 
won't  begin  shooting  a  while  yet.  You  can  come  closer  if 
you  want,  I'll  show  you  where  to  stay  so's  you  won't  be  in 
the  way." 

Guided  by  him,  the  exotics  gingerly  picked  their  way 
across  the  banks,  coils,  loops  and  strands  of  electric  cable 
that  ran  in  snaky  confusion  all  over  the  floor,  like  exposed 
viscera  of  the  cinema ;  and  Lucinda  presently  found  her- 
self on  the  side  lines  of  the  living-room,  between  it  and  the 
dogged  orchestra,  and  well  out  of  range  of  the  camera. 

She  could  now  see  three  people  on  the  set,  two  men 
with  a  girl  whom,  thanks  to  the  wide  circulation  of  the 
lady's  photographs,  she  had  no  difficulty  in  identifying  as 
Alma  Daley  herself — a  prepossessing  young  person  with 
bobbed  hair,  a  boldly  featured  face,  comely  in  the  flesh 
rather  than  pretty,  and  a  slight  little  body  whose  emacia- 
tion told  a  tale  of  too-rigorous  dieting  and  which  she  used 
not  unpleasingly  but  with  a  rather  fetching  effect  of  youth- 
ful gaucherie.  Her  make-up  for  the  camera  was  much 
lighter  and  more  deftly  applied  than  seemed  to  be  the  rule. 
Gowned  effectively  if  elaborately  in  a  street  dress  hall- 
marked by  the  rue  de  la  Paix,  she  was  leaning  against  a 
table  and  lending  close  if  fatigued  attention  to  the  quiet 
conversation  of  the  two  men. 

Of  these  one  was  tall  and  dark,  with  a  thick  mane  of 
wavy  black  hair,  a  wide  and  mobile  mouth,  and  great, 
melancholy  eyes.  His  well-tailored  morning-coat  dis- 
played to  admiration  a  splendid  torso.  The  other  was  a 
smaller,  indeed  an  undersized  man,  who  wore  a  braided 
smoking- jacket  but  no  paint  on  his  pinched,  weather- 
worn face  of  an  actor.  His  manner  was  intense  and  all 
his  observations  (and  he  was  doing  most  of  the  talking) 
were  illustrated  by  gesticulation  almost  Latin  in  its  free- 
dom and  vividness. 

"King  Laughlin,"  Mr.  Gulp's  secretary  informed  Lu- 


60  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

cinda — "man  in  the  smoking- jacket,  he  always  wears  one 
when  he's  working — greatest  emotional  director  in  the 
business,  nobody  can  touch  him.  Why,  alongside  him, 
Griffith's  a  joke  in  a  back  number  of  Judge.  You  wouldn't 
guess  what  he  gets :  thirty-five  hundred." 

"That's  almost  a  thousand  a  week,  isn't  it?" 

"Thousand  a  week !"  Mr.  Lane  suspiciously  inspected 
Lucinda's  profile.  Could  it  be  possible  that  this  well-born 
lady  was  trying  to  kid  him  ?  But  no ;  he  could  see  she  was 
quite  guileless.  In  accents  of  some  compassion  he  cor- 
rected :  "Three-thousand  five-hundred  every  week's  what 
King  Laughlin  drags  down  in  the  little  old  pay  enz/^/ope. 
But  that's  Mr.  Gulp  all  over;  expense's  no  object  when 
he's  making  an  Alma  Daley  picture,  nothing's  too  good." 

"I'm  sure    ..."  Lucinda  agreed  vaguely. 

Out  of  the  corner  of  an  eye  the  director  had  become 
aware  of  a  new  audience  and  one  worthy  of  his  mettle, 
and  he  was  already  preparing  to  play  up  to  it.  Dropping 
the  easy,  semi-confidential  manner  in  which  he  had  been 
advising  the  younger  and  taller  man,  with  surprising  ani- 
mation Mr.  King  Laughlin  snatched  a  silk  hat  and  stick 
from  the  other's  unresisting  hands. 

"Right-O,  Tommy!"  he  said  in  the  nasal  tune  of  the 
English  Midlands.  "I  think  you've  got  me  now,  but  just 
to  make  sure  I'll  walk  through  it  with  Alma."  He  turned 
graciously  to  the  woman:  "Now,  Alma  dear  ..." 

Miss  Daley,  herself  not  unconscious  of  a  fashionable 
gallery,  shrugged  slightly  to  signify  that  she  didn't  mind 
if  Mr.  Laughlin  thought  it  really  worth  while,  it  was  all 
in  the  day's  drudgery,  and  made  a  leisurely  exit  from  the 
set  by  way  of  a  door  in  its  right-hand  wall.  At  the  same 
time  Mr.  Laughlin  walked  off  by  a  door  approximately 
opposite,  and  the  young  man  in  the  morning-coat  strolled 
down  to  the  front  of  the  set  and  settled  himself  to  observe 
and  absorb  the  impending  lesson. 

Mr.  Laughlin  then  re-entered  in  character  as  a  degage 
gentleman  with  an  uneasy  conscience,  indicating  this  last 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  61 

by  stealthily  opening  and  peering  round  the  edge  of  the 
door  before  coming  in  and  closing  it  with  caution,  and 
gentility  by  holding  hat  and  stick  in  one  hand  and  care- 
lessly trailing  the  ferrule  of  the  stick  behind  him.  Relieved 
to  find  the  room  untenanted,  he  moved  up  to  the  table, 
placed  the  hat  on  it  crown-down,  propped  the  stick  against 
it,  turned  and  gave  the  door  in  the  right-hand  wall  a 
hard  look,  then  bent  over  the  table  and  pulled  out  and 
began  to  ransack  one  of  its  drawers.  Thus  engaged,  he 
said  clearly :  "All  right,  Alma!"  and  immediately  gave  a 
start,  whereby  it  appeared  that  he  had  heard  footfalls  off, 
and  slammed  the  drawer.  At  this  Miss  Daley  entered,  a 
listless  little  figure  so  preoccupied  with  secret  woe  that 
she  quite  failed  at  first  to  see  Mr.  Laughlin,  and  when  she 
did  gave  a  start  even  more  violent  than  his  had  been,  clasp- 
ing both  hands  to  her  bosom  and  crying  out  in  a  thrilling 
voice:  "Egbert!" 

Mr.  Laughlin  kept  his  temper  admirably  under  the 
sting  of  this  epithet;  all  the  same,  anyone  could  see  he 
didn't  fancy  it  a  bit.  However,  first  and  always  the  gen- 
tleman, he  offered  Miss  Daley  a  magnanimous  gesture  of 
outstretched  hands.  Instantly  the  poor  girl's  face  bright- 
ened with  a  joyous  smile,  a  happy  cry  trembled  upon  her 
lips  as  she  ran  to  his  arms.  He  enfolded  her,  with  a  fond 
hand  ground  her  features  into  the  shoulder  of  his  smok- 
ing-jacket,  and  turned  his  Qwn  toward  the  camera,  work- 
ing them  into  a  cast  of  bitter  anguish. 

Gently  rescuing  herself,  Miss  Daley  discovered  Egbert's 
hat  and  stick,  turned  to  him  and  looked  him  up  and  down 
with  dawning  horror,  audibly  protesting:  "But  Egbert! 
you  are  going  out!"  He  attempted  a  disclaimer,  but  it 
wouldn't  wash,  the  evidence  of  the  top  hat  and  the  smok- 
ing-jacket  was  too  damning;  and  in  the  end  he  had  to 
give  in  and  admit  that,  well,  yes,  he  was  going  out,  and 
what  of  it. 

Evidently  Miss  Daley  knew  any  number  of  reasons 
why  he  ought  to  stay  in,  but  she  made  the  grave  mistake 


62  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

of  trying  to  hold  him  with  affection's  bonds,  throwing  her- 
self upon  his  neck  and  winding  her  arms  tightly  round  it. 
And  that  was  too  much :  Egbert  made  it  clear  that,  while 
he'd  stand  a  lot  from  a  woman  to  whom  he  was  Every- 
thing, there  was  such  a  thing  as  piling  it  on  too  thick. 
And  against  her  frenzied  resistance  he  grasped  her  frail 
young  wrists,  brutally  broke  her  embrace,  and  flung  her 
from  him.  She  fell  against  the  table,  threw  back  her 
head  to  show  the  pretty  line  of  her  throat,  clutched  con- 
vulsively at  her  collar-bone,  and  subsided  upon  the  floor 
in  a  fit  of  heartbroken  sobbing;  while  Egbert  callously 
took  his  hat,  clapped  it  on  his  head,  and  marched  out  by 
a  door  in  the  rear  wall,  his  dignity  but  slightly  impaired 
by  the  fact  that  the  hat  was  several  sizes  too  large  and 
would  have  extinguished  him  completely  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  his  noble  ears. 

Without  pause  Mr.  Laughlin  doubled  round  to  the 
front  of  the  set,  threw  the  waiting  actor  a  brusque  "See, 
Tommy  ?  Get  what  I  mean  ?"  and  encouraged  Miss  Daley 
with  "That's  wonderful,  Alma  dear.  Now  go  on,  right 
through  the  scene." 

Miss  Daley,  lying  in  complete  collapse,  with  her  head 
to  the  camera,  writhed  up  on  an  elbow,  planted  her  hands 
upon  the  floor  and  by  main  strength  pushed  her  heaving 
shoulders  away  from  it,  keeping  a  tortured  face  turned 
to  the  camera  throughout.  Then  she  got  her  second  wind, 
caught  hold  of  the  edge  of  the  table,  pulled  herself  up, 
looked  around  wildly,  realized  that  she  was  a  deserted 
woman,  saw  her  hat  by  Tappe  hanging  on  the  back  of  a 
morris-chair  by  Ludwig  Baumann,  seized  it,  rushed  to  the 
door  by  which  Egbert  had  escaped,  and  threw  herself  out 
in  pursuit. 

Mr.  Laughlin  clapped  gleeful  hands. 

"Fine,  Alma,  wonderful!  You're  simply  marvelous 
today,  dear.  Now  Tommy,  run  through  it  just  once  with 
Alma,  and  then  we'll  shoot." 

Mr.  Lane  bustled  about  and  found  chairs  for  Lucinda 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  68 

and  her  friends,  upon  which  they  composed  themselves 
to  watch  Tommy  interpret  Mr.  King  Laughlin's  tuition 
in  the  art  of  acting  for  the  screen. 

To  the  best  of  Lucinda's  judgment,  however,  the  greater 
part  of  Mr.  Laughlin's  efforts  had  meant  to  Tommy  pre- 
cisel}'  nothing  at  all.  Beyond  the  rudimentary  mechanics 
of  the  physical  action  sketched  in  by  the  director,  Tommy 
made  no  perceptible  attempt  to  follow  pattern,  and 
disregarding  entirely  its  conventional  but  effective  busi- 
ness, embellished  the  scene  instead  with  business  which 
was,  such  as  it  was,  all  his  own,  or  more  accurately  that 
of  a  dead  era  of  the  speaking  stage. 

Like  a  wraith  of  histrionism  recalled  from  the  theatre 
of  East  Lynne  and  The  Silver  King,  Tommy  carved  out 
his  effects  with  flowing,  florid  gestures,  and  revived  the 
melodramatic  stride  and  heroic  attitudinizing ;  and  though 
he  wilfully  made  faces  at  the  camera  throughout,  he 
demonstrated  the  deep  veneration  in  which  he  really  held 
it  by  never  once  showing  it  his  back,  until,  having  duly 
spurned  the  clinging  caresses  of  Miss  Daley,  he  was 
obliged  to  march  to  the  door,  and  even  then  he  made  occa- 
sion to  pause  with  a  hand  on  the  knob  and,  throwing  out 
his  chest  and  fretfully  tossing  rebellious  black  locks  from 
tragic  brows,  granted  the  camera  the  boon  of  one  last, 
long  look  at  him  ere  making  his  exit. 

And  when  Mr.  Laughlin  tranquilly  approved  this  per- 
formance and  announced  that  they  would  forthwith 
"shoot  it,"  Lucinda  began  to  wonder  if  there  were  pos- 
sibly something  wrong  with  her  own  powers  of  obser- 
vation. 

"But,"  she  protested  to  Mr.  Lane,  who  had  coolly 
elected  himself  her  special  squire  and  placed  his  chair 
close  to  hers — "that  man  they  call  Tommy — he  didn't  play 
the  scene  as  Mr.  Laughlin  did." 

"Oh,  Tommy  Shannon !"  said  Mr.  Lane  equably — 
"Tommy's  all  right,  he  knows  what  he's  doing — best  lead- 
ing man  in  the  movin'  picture  business,  bar  none.  King 


64  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

Laughlin  knows  he  can  trust  Tommy  to  put  it  over  his 
own  way.  All  you  got  to  do  is  to  let  Tommy  Shannon 
alone  and  he'll  ring  the  gong  every  shot." 

"But  if  that's  the  case,  why  did  Mr.  Laughlin  take  so 
much  trouble  to  show  him ?" 

"Well,  you  see,  it's  this  way,"  Mr.  Lane  explained: 
"King's  all  right,  and  Tommy's  all  right,  too,  both  stars 
in  their  line;  but  if  Tommy  don't  see  a  scene  the  way 
King  shows  him,  and  King  starts  to  bawl  him  out,  why, 
Tommy  '11  just  walk  off  the  lot.  And  then  where  are  you  ? 
You  can't  finish  your  picture  without  your  leading  man, 
can  you?  And  there's  maybe  a  hundred-and-fifty  or  two- 
hundred  thousand  dollars  invested  in  this  production 
already.  One  of  the  first  things  a  director's  got  to  learn  in 
this  game  is  how  to  handle  actors.  That's  where  King 
Laughlin's  so  wonderful,  he  never  had  an  actor  quit  on 
him  yet." 

"I  see,"  said  Lucinda  thoughtfully.  "The  way  to  handle 
an  actor  is  to  let  him  have  his  own  way." 

"You  got  the  idea,"  Mr.  Lane  approved  without  a  smile. 

"But  suppose,"  she  persisted — "suppose  the  leading  man 
insists  on  doing  something  that  doesn't  suit  the  part  he's 
supposed  to  play,  I  mean  something  so  utterly  out  of  char- 
acter that  it  spoils  the  story?" 

"Sure,  that  happens  sometimes,  too." 

"What  do  you  do  then  ?" 

"That's  easy.    What's  your  continuity  writer  for  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  Mr.  Lane.  You  see,  I  don't  even  know 
what  a  continuity  writer  is." 

"Why,  he's  the  bird  dopes  out  the  continuity  the  direc- 
tor works  from — you  know,  the  scenes  in  a  picture,  the 
way  they  come  out  on  the  screen :  Scene  One,  Scene  Two, 
and  all  like  that." 

"You  mean  the  playwright  ?" 

"Well,  yes;  only  in  pictures  he's  called  a  continuity 
writer." 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  65 

"But  that  doesn't  tell  me  what  you  do  when  an  actor 
insists  on  doing  something  that  spoils  the  story." 

"That's  just  what  I'm  trying  to  tell  you,  Mrs.  Druce. 
You  get  your  continuity  writer,  of  course,  and  have  him 
make  the  change." 

"You  mean  you  change  the  story  to  please  the  actor?" 

"Sure :  it's  the  only  thing  to  do  when  you  got  maybe  a 
hundred-and-fifty  or  two-hundred  thousand  dollars  hung 
up  in  a  picture." 

"But  doesn't  that  frequently  spoil  the  story?" 

"Oh,  what's  a  story?"  Mr.  Lane  argued  reasonably. 
"People  don't  go  to  see  a  story  when  they  take  in  an  Alma 
Daley  picture.  They  go  because  they  know  they  get  their 
money's  worth  when  they  see  a  Ben  Gulp  production 
that's  taken  from  some  big  Broadway  success  and  costs  a 
hundred-and-fifty  or  maybe  two-hundred  thousand  dol- 
lars. But  princip'ly,  of  course,  they  go  to  see  Alma  Daley, 
because  she's  the  most  pop'lar  actress  on  the  screen,  and 
makes  more  money  than  Mary  Pickford,  and  wears  the 
swellest  clothes  that  cost  sometimes  as  much  as  twenty 
thousand  dollars  for  each  picture;  and  besides  she's  the 
grandest  little  woman  that  ever  looked  into  a  lens,  and 
there's  never  been  no  scandal  about  her  private  life,  and 
an  Alma  Daley  picture's  sure  to  be  clean.  Why,  Mr.  Gulp 
wouldn't  let  Miss  Daley  act  in  any  picture  where  she  had 
to  be  wronged  or  anything  like  that.  When  he  buys  a  play 
for  her  and  the  heroine's  got  a  past  in  it  or  anything,  he 
just  has  the  story  changed  so's  there's  never  any  stain 
upon  her  honour  or  anything  anybody  could  get  hold  of. 
That's  one  thing  Mr.  Gulp's  very  partic'lar  about ;  he  says 
no  wife  of  his  shall  ever  go  before  the  public  in  a 
shady  part." 

"Has  he  many?" 

Mr.  Lane  looked  hurt,  but  was  mollified  by  the  mischief 
in  Lucinda's  smile. 

"Well,  you  know  what  I  mean.     But  we  better  stop 


66  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

talking,  if  it's  all  the  same  to  you,  Mrs.  Druce,  or  Miss 
Daley  '11  get  upset.  They're  going  to  shoot  now." 

The  warning  was  coincident  with  the  sudden  deluging 
of  the  set  with  waves  of  artificial  light  of  a  weird  violet 
tint,  falling  from  great  metal  troughs  overhead  and  beat- 
ing in  horizontally  from  the  metal  stands  or  screens,  which 
were  now  seen  to  be  banks  of  incandescent  tubes  burning 
with  a  blinding  glare. 

Nor  was  this  all :  shafts  and  floods  of  light  of  normal 
hue  were  likewise  trained  upon  the  scene  from  a  dozen 
different  points,  until  the  blended  rays  lent  almost  lifelike 
colouring  to  the  faces  of  the  actors,  whose  make-up  had 
theretofore  seemed  ghastly  and  unnatural  to  uninitiate 
eyes. 

Stationed  just  beyond  the  edge  of  the  area  of  most  in- 
tense illumination,  the  audience  sat  in  a  sort  of  violet 
penumbra  whose  effect  was  hideously  unflattering.  In  it 
every  face  assumed  a  deathly  glow,  resembling  the  phos- 
phorescence of  corruption,  the  red  of  cheeks  and  lips 
became  purple,  and  every  hint  of  facial  defect  stood  out, 
a  purple  smudge.  So  that  Lucinda,  reviewing  the  libelled 
countenances  of  her  companions,  breathed  silent  thanks 
to  whatever  gods  there  were  for  their  gift  of  a  complexion 
transparent  and  immaculate. 

"Camera !" 

The  command  came  from  King  Laughlin.  Lucinda 
could  just  hear  a  muffled  clicking,  and  seeking  its  source 
discovered  a  youngish  man,  with  a  keen  face  and  intelli- 
gent eyes,  standing  behind  the  tripod  and  turning  in 
measured  tempo  a  crank  attached  to  the  black  box. 

Coached  by  Mr.  Laughlin,  who  danced  nervously  upon 
the  side  lines,  the  scene  was  enacted. 

"Now,  Tommy,  come  on — slowly — hold  the  door — look 
around,  make  sure  the  room  is  empty — hold  it — now  shut 
the  door — up  to  the  table — don't  forget  where  to  put  your 
hat — 'sright,  splendid  !  Now  you  look  at  the  other  door- 
listen — show  me  that  you  don't  hear  anythii^^— good ! 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  67 

Open  the  drawer — easy  now,  remember  you're  trying  not 
to  make  a  noise — look  for  the  papers — show  me  you  can't 
find  them.  My  God!  where  can  they  be!  That's  it.  Now 
you  hear  a  noise  off — (Ready,  Alma!) — shut  the  drawer 
— start  to  pick  up  your  hat — too  late — !  Come  on,  Alma — 
come  on!  You  don't  see  him,  you  look  out  of  the  window 
and  sigh — let's  see  you  sigh,  Alma — beautiful !  beautiful ! 
Now,  Tommy,  you  move — she  sees  you — see  him,  Alma. 
Slowly — hold  it — wonderful!  Now  call  to  him,  Alma — 
Egbert!  Egbert!!" 

The  little  man's  voice  cracked  with  the  heart-rending 
pathos  he  infused  into  that  cry ;  but  he  did  not  pause,  he 
continued  to  dance  and  bark  directions  at  star  and  lead- 
ing-man till  the  door  closed  behind  Miss  Daley's  frantic 
exit;  when  all  at  once  he  went  out  of  action  and,  draw- 
ing a  silk  bandanna  from  his  cuff  to  mop  the  sweat  of 
genius  on  his  brows,  turned  mild,  enquiring  eyes  to  the 
cameraman. 

"Got  it,"  that  one  uttered  laconically. 

"Think  we  want  to  take  it  over,  Eddie  ?"  The  camera- 
man shook  his  head.  "Good !  Now  we'll  shoot  the  close-up. 
No,  Tommy,  not  you — the  only  close-up  I  want  for  this 
scene  is  Alma  where  she  gets  up.  We  must  get  those  tears 
in,  she  cries  so  pretty." 

There  was  some  delay.  The  camera  had  to  be  brought 
forward  and  trained  at  short  range  on  the  spot  where 
Miss  Daley  had  fallen;  several  stands  of  banked  lights 
likewise  needed  to  be  advanced  and  adjusted.  And  then 
Miss  Daley  had  to  be  given  time  to  go  to  her  dressing- 
room  and  repair  the  ravages  her  complexion  had  suffered 
in  Egbert's  embrace.  But  all  these  matters  were  at  length 
adjusted  to  the  satisfaction  of  director;  the  actress  lay  in 
a  broken  heap  with  her  face  buried  on  her  arms,  the 
camera  once  more  began  to  click,  Mr.  King  Laughlin 
squatting  by  its  side,  prepared  to  pull  the  young  woman 
through  the  scene  by  sheer  force  of  his  inspired  art. 

But  now  the  passion  which  before  had  kept  him  hopping 


68  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

and  screaming  had  passed  into  a  subdued  and  plaintive 
phase;  Mr.  Laughlin  was  suffering  for  and  with  the 
heroine  whose  woes  were  to  be  projected  before  the  eyes 
and  into  the  hearts  of  half  the  world.  He  did  not  actually 
cry,  but  his  features  were  knotted  with  the  anguish  that 
wrung  his  heart,  and  his  voice  was  thick  with  sobs. 

"Now,  dear,  you're  coming  to — you  just  lift  jrour  head 
and  look  up,  dazed.  You  don't  realize  what's  happened  yet, 
you  hardly  know  where  you  are.  Where  am  I,  my  God! 
ttfhcre  am  If  That's  it — beautiful.  Now  it  begins  to 
come  to  you — you  remember  what's  happened,  you  get  it. 
He  has  cast  you  off — O  my  God!  he  has  deserted  you. 
Fine — couldn't  be  better — you're  great,  dear,  simply  great. 
Now  go  on — begin  to  cry,  let  the  big  tears  well  up  from 
your  broken  heart  and  trickle  down  your  cheeks.  Fine ! 
Cry  harder,  dear — you  must  cry  harder,  this  scene  will  go 
all  flooey  if  you  can't  cry  any  harder  than  that.  Think 
what  he  was  to  you — and  now  he  has  left  you — zvho 
knows ? — perhaps  for-ev-er!  Your  heart  is  breaking, 
dear,  it's  breaking,  and  nobody  cares.  Can't  you  cry 
harder  ?  Listen  to  the  music  and  .  .  .  Good  God ! 
how  d'you  expect  anybody  to  cry  to  music  like  that  ?" 

The  last  was  a  shriek  of  utter  exasperation ;  and  bound- 
ing to  his  feet  the  little  man  darted  furiously  at  the  musi- 
cians, stopping  in  front  of  the  trio  and  beginning  to  beat 
time  with  an  imaginary  baton. 

"Follow  me,  please — get  this,  the  way  7  feel  it.  So — 
slowly — draw  it  out — hold  it — get  a  little  heart-break 
into  it !" 

And  strangely  enough  he  did  manage  to  infuse  a  little 
of  his  fine  fervour  into  the  three.  They  abandoned  their 
lethargic  postures,  sat  up,  and  began  to  play  with  some 
approach  to  feeling;  while  posing  before  them,  swaying 
from  the  toes  of  one  foot  to  the  toes  of  the  other,  his 
hands  weaving  rhythms  of  emotion  in  the  air,  the  absurd 
creature  threw  back  his  head,  shut  his  eyes,  and  wreathed 
his  thin  lips  with  a  beatific  smile. 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  69 

Throughout,  on  the  floor,  before  the  camera,  under  that 
cruel  glare  of  lights,  Alma  Daley  strained  her  face  toward 
the  lens  and  cried  as  if  her  heart  must  surely  break,  real 
tears  streaming  down  her  face — but  cried  with  fine  judg- 
ment, never  forgetting  that  woman  must  be  lovely  even 
in  woe. 

And  while  Lucinda  watched,  looking  from  one  to  the 
other,  herself  threatened  with  that  laughter  which  is  akin 
to  tears,  a  strange  voice  saluted  her. 

"Saw  me  coming,"  it  observed,  "and  had  to  show  off. 
He's  a  great  little  actor,  that  boy,  and  no  mistake — never 
misses  a  chance.  Look't  him  now :  you'd  never  guess  he 
wasn't  thinking  about  anything  but  whether  I'm  falling 
for  this  new  stunt  of  his,  would  you  ?" 

Lucinda  looked  around.  Mr.  Lane  had  mysteriously 
eflaced  himself.  In  his  place  sat  a  stout  man  of  middle- 
age  with  a  sanguine  countenance  of  Semitic  type,  shrewd 
and  hard  but  good-humoured. 

"How  d'you  do  ?"  he  said  genially.  "Mrs.  Druce,  ain't 
it?  Gulp's  my  name,  Ben  Gulp." 


IX 

OF  a  sudden  Miss  Daley  missed  her  mentor's  voice,  his 
counsel  and  encouragement,  and  in  the  middle  of 
a  sob  ceased  to  cry  precisely  as  she  might  have  shut  off 
a  tap. 

In  a  moment  of  uncertainty,  still  confronting  the  click- 
ing camera,  still  bathed  in  that  withering  blaze,  she  cast 
about  blankly  for  her  runagate  director.  Then  discover- 
ing that  he  had,  just  like  a  man !  deserted  her  in  her  time 
of  trouble  to  follow  a  band,  outraged  womanhood  asserted 
itsdf,  in  a  twinkling  she  cast  her  passion  like  a  worn-out 
garment  and  became  no  more  the  broken  plaything  of 
man's  fickle  fancy  but  once  again  the  spoiled  sweetheart 
of  the  screen. 

As  Lucinda  saw  it,  there  was  something  almost  uncanny 
in  the  swiftness  and  the  radical  thoroughness  of  that 
transfiguration,  the  fiery  creature  who  sprang  to  her  feet 
with  flashing  eyes  and  scornful  mouth  was  hardly  to  be 
identified  with  the  wretched  little  thing  whom  she  had  seen, 
only  a  few  seconds  since,  grovelling  and  weeping  on  the 
floor. 

The  cameraman  stopped  cranking  and,  resting  an  elbow 
on  his  camera,  turned  with  a  satiric  grin  to  observe  devel- 
opments. And  following  a  sharp,  brief  stir  of  apprehen- 
sion in  the  ranks  of  the  professional  element,  there  fell 
a  dead  pause  of  dismay,  a  complete  suspension  of  all 
activities  other  than  those  of  the  musicians  and  their 
volunteer  leader,  and  of  the  calloused  carpenters,  who, 
as  became  good  union  laborers,  continued  to  go  noisily  to 
and  fro  upon  their  lawful  occasions,  scornful  of  the  im- 
pending storm. 

70 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  71 

As  one  who  finds  the  resources  of  her  mother  tongue 
inadequate,  Miss  Daley  in  silence  fixed  with  a  portentous 
stare  the  back  of  King  Laughlin,  who,  all  ignorant  of 
the  doom  hovering  over  his  devoted  head,  kept  on  swaying 
airily  to  and  fro,  smiling  his  ecstatic  smile  and  measuring 
the  music  with  fluent  hands. 

One  of  the  Daley  feet  began  to  tap  out  the  devil's  tattoo, 
she  set  her  arms  akimbo,  her  eyes  were  quick  with  baleful 
lightnings,  her  pretty  lips  an  ominous  line;  an  ensemble 
that  only  too  clearly  foretold :  At  any  'minute,  now! 

With  a  smothered  grunt  Mr.  Gulp  heaved  out  of  his 
chair  and  lumbered  over  to  his  wife,  interposing  his  not 
negligible  bulk  between  her  and  the  unconscious  object 
of  her  indignation — and  in  the  very  nick  of  time,  or  Lu- 
cinda  was  mistaken. 

What  he  said  couldn't  be  heard  at  that  distance,  the 
sour  whining  of  the  violin,  the  lamentations  of  the  'cello, 
and  the  tinkle-tinkle  of  the  tinny  piano  conspired  to  pre- 
serve inviolate  those  communications  between  man  and 
wife  which  the  law  holds  to  be  privileged.  But  Lucinda 
noticed  a  backward  jerk  of  the  Gulp  head  toward  the 
group  of  which  she  made  one,  and  caught  a  glance  askance 
of  the  Daley  eyes,  oddly  intent  and  cool  in  contrast  with 
the  guise  of  unbridled  fury  which  her  features  wore.  And 
whatever  it  was  that  Mr.  Gulp  found  to  say,  indisputably 
it  proved  effectual ;  for  nothing  worse  came  of  Miss 
Daley's  wrath,  at  least  publicly,  than  a  shrewish  retort  in- 
audible to  bystanders,  a  toss  of  her  head,  and  a  sudden, 
stormy  flight  from  the  scene. 

Mr.  Gulp  followed  with  thoughtful  gaze  her  retreat 
toward  her  dressing-room,  then  looked  a  question  to  the 
cameraman. 

"  'Sallright,"  said  that  one,  imperturbable.  "Got  enough 
of  it." 

Mr.  Gulp  nodded  in  relief,  and  signed  to  the  electricians. 
As  he  made  his  way  back  to  Lucinda's  side  the  lights 
sputtered  out.  And  as  soon  as  this  happened  Mr.  King 


72  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

Laughlin,  cruelly  wrenched  out  of  his  dream-land  of 
melody,  came  down  to  an  earth  dangerous  with  the  harsh 
dissonances  of  reality. 

"What  the — where  the — what — !"  he  stammered,  look- 
ing in  vain  for  the  little  woman  whom  he  had  so  heart- 
lessly abandoned  in  her  woe  on  the  living-room  set.  Then, 
catching  sight  of  her  half-way  across  the  studio,  he  bleated 
"Alma!"  once  in  remonstrance,  and  again  in  consterna- 
tion, and  set  out  in  panic  pursuit. 

Before  he  could  overtake  her,  Miss  Daley  disappeared 
round  one  side  of  the  Palm  Room,  at  which  point  beating 
the  air  with  suppliant  hands,  Mr.  Laughlin  disappeared 
in  turn. 

"That's  the  sort  of  thing  you're  up  against  all  a  time  in 
the  fillum  business,  d'y'see,"  sighed  Mr.  Gulp  with  a  rueful 
grin.  "A  lot  of  kids,  that's  what  we  got  to  make  pitchers 
with.  And  audiences  all  a  time  kickin'  because  we  don't 
make  'em  better.  .  .  .  A  lot  of  kids !" 

He  did  not,  however,  appear  greatly  disheartened,  but 
recounted  his  tribulations  rather  as  a  matter  of  course, 
appealing  informally  to  the  sympathies  of  his  guests. 

"King  Laughlin  all  over,  nice  a  little  feller's  anybody'd 
want  to  work  with,  but  temp'amental,  d'y'see,  got  to  show 
off  like  a  kid  every  time  he  gets  a  chance.  And  what's 
the  answer?  Mrs.  Gulp  gets  sore,  says  she  won't  do  an- 
other stroke  of  work  s'long's  King's  directin'.  And  here 
we  was  tryin'  to  finish  shootin'  today,  behind  on  our  re- 
lease date  and  all,  and  thirty  extra  people,  d'y'see,  gettin' 
five  and  seven  and  maybe  ten  dollars,  been  waitin'  all  day 
to  work  on  the  big  set  and  got  to  be  paid  whether  they 
work  or  not  ..." 

Mr.  Gulp  broke  off  suddenly,  singled  out  from  the 
attendant  cloud  of  retainers  a  young  man  wearing  an  eye- 
shade  and  a  badgerred  expression,  and  instructed  him  to 
send  the  extra  people  packing,  but  to  tell  them  to  report 
for  work  at  eight  o'clock  the  next  day. 

"  'Sno  use  keepin'  'em  any  longer,  'safternoon,"  he  ex- 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  73 

plained  confidentially.  "When  that  little  woman  says  a 
thing  she  means  it,  d'y'see,  so  chances  are  it'll  be  mornin' 
before  she  changes  her  mind.  And  if  you  ladies  '11  excuse 
me,  I  guess  I  ought  to  be  sittin'  in  with  her  and  King  now. 
The  only  things  they  think  I'm  any  good  for,  in  this  studio, 
is  pay  salaries  and  referee  battles." 

He  was  affably  disposed  to  waive  ceremony  under  the 
circumstances,  but  gave  in  with  good  grace  when  Lon- 
taine  insisted  on  formally  presenting  him  to  each  of  his 
guests;  and  thus  reminded  of  the  first  purpose  of  their 
visit,  which  he  seemed  to  have  forgotten  altogether,  Mr. 
Gulp  delayed  long  enough  to  recall  the  worried  young  man 
with  the  eyeshade,  whom  he  made  known  as  Mr.  Willing, 
the  assistant  director,  and  charged  with  supervision  of  the 
proposed  tests. 

And  Mr.  Willing  was  to  understand  that  these  were  to 
be  regular  tests  and  no  monkey  business ;  he  was  to  see 
that  someone  with  plenty  of  know-how  helped  the  ladies 
make  up ;  after  which  he  was  to  shoot  the  party  as  a  whole 
in  some  little  scene  or  other,  in  addition  to  making  indi- 
vidual close-ups. 

If  Mr.  Willing  accepted  this  commission  with  more 
resignation  than  enthusiasm,  he  proved  to  be  a  modest 
person  with  pleasing  manners  and  no  perceptible  symp- 
toms of  temperament.  And  he  was  as  good  as  his  name. 
It  was  his  suggestion  that  a  corner  of  the  Palm  Room  be 
utilized,  as  rrfost  suitable  for  the  group  scene.  And  while 
the  cameraman  was  amiably  setting  up  his  instrument  to 
command  this  new  location  and  superintending  the  mov- 
ing of  the  lights,  it  was  Mr.  Willing  who  conducted 
Lucinda,  Nelly,  Jean  and  Fanny  to  a  barn-like  dressing- 
room  and  hunted  up  a  matronly  actress,  a  recruit  from 
the  legitimate  theatre,  to  advise  and  assist  them  with  their 
respective  make-ups. 

Lucinda  killed  time  while  waiting  for  her  turn  by  try- 
ing her  own  hand  with  grease-paint,  powder,  and  mascaro, 
with  the  upshot  that,  when  she  presented  her  face  for  in- 


74  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

spection  and  revision,  the  actress  refused  to  change  the 
effect  by  the  addition  or  subtraction  of  a  single  touch,  and 
laughingly  declined  to  believe  it  had  been  achieved  without 
experience. 

"It's  no  use,  Mrs.  Druce,  don't  tell  me  you  haven't  been 
in  the  business !" 

"On  the  stage,  you  mean?  But  only  in  the  most  ama- 
teurish way,  schoolgirl  theatricals." 

"No,"  the  woman  insisted — "they  don't  make  up  like 
that  for  a  test  unless  they're  camera-wise." 

To  this  she  stuck  stubbornly;  and  Lucinda  found  her- 
self curiously  pleased,  though  she  had  done  no  more  to 
deserve  commendation  than  supplement  native  good  taste 
and  an  eye  for  colour  with  close  observation  of  the  Daley 
make-up  and  how  it  had  fared  under  the  lights. 

Another  compliment  signalized  their  return  to  the 
studio ;  nothing  less  than  the  presence  of  Miss  Daley — 
"in  person" — composed,  agreeable,  hospitable,  showing 
every  anxiety  to  make  their  tests  successful  and  never  a 
sign  of  the  storm  that  had  presumably  broken  behind  the 
scenes. 

But  Lucinda  reckoned  it  significant  that  Mr.  King 
Laughlin  was  nowhere  visible. 

"I  thought  it  would  be  nice  if  we  could  all  have  tea 
in  my  dressing-room,"  Miss  Daley  explained;  "and  then 
Daddy  suggested  we  could  have  it  served  here,  on  the  set — 
make  a  regular  little  scene  of  it,  you  know,  for  the 
camera." 

"I'm  sure  that  would  be  delightful,"  replied  Lucinda, 
suspended  judgment  melting  into  liking  even  in  those  first 
few  minutes. 

"Oh,  Daddy  thinks  of  all  the  nice  things !" 

"And  I'll  see  each  you  ladies  gets  a  print,"  Gulp  volun- 
teered benignly,  "so's  you  can  get  it  run  through  a  pro- 
jectin'  machine  any  time  you  want,  d'y'see,  and  show  your 
friends  how  you  once  acted  with  Alma  Daley." 

"Daddy !  don't  be  ridiculous." 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  75 

Vivacious,  by  no  means  unintelligent,  and  either  an  ex- 
cellent actress  in  private  life  or  else  an  unpretending  body, 
happy  in  her  success  and  unashamed  of  humble  begin- 
nings, Miss  Daley  was  tactful  enough  to  make  her  guests 
forget  themselves  and  the  trial  to  come,  as  they  took 
their  places — with  no  prearrangement  but  much  as  if  they 
were  actually  meeting  at  the  Ritz — and  were  served  with 
tea  by  actor-waiters  in  correct  livery.  All  the  same, 
Lucinda  noticed  that  their  hostess  ingeniously  maneuvered 
to  a  central  position  in  the  foreground,  where  she  sat  full- 
face  to  the  camera ;  this  being  by  far  her  best  phase.  And 
just  before  the  lights  blazed  up,  the  girl  launched  into  a 
spirited  account  of  her  passage-at-arms  with  King  Laugh- 
lin,  which,  recited  without  malice  but  with  keen  flair  for 
the  incongruous,  carried  the  amateur  players  easily  over 
the  first  minutes,  in  which  otherwise  constraint  must  in- 
evitably have  attended  camera-consciousness. 

"I  was  so  fussed,"  she  concluded,  "I  swore  I'd  never  act 
another  scene  for  him.  But  when  I  remembered  how 
foolish  he  looked,  posing  in  front  of  that  awful  orchestra 
like  a  hypnotized  rabbit,  I  just  had  to  laugh ;  and  I  couldn't 
laugh  and  be  mad  at  the  same  time,  of  course.  And  then 
I  had  to  tell  King  what  I  was  laughing  at,  and  that  made 
him  so  ashamed  he's  sulking  in  his  office  now  and  won't 
come  out  while  any  of  you  are  here." 

"Then  all's  serene-o  once  more,  Miss  Daley?" 

"Oh,  sure.  You  see,  Mr.  Lontaine,  we've  simply  got  to 
finish  this  picture  tonight,  somehow,  even  if  we  have  to 
work  on  till  morning ;  so  I  accepted  his  apology  and  made 
it  up." 

"But  those  extra  people  Mr.  Gulp  let  go •  ?" 

"That's  all  right,"  Gulp  responded  from  his  place 
beside  the  camera.  "When  I  see  how  things  was  goin', 
I  sent  down  to  the  cashier  and  told  him  not  to  pay  'em 
off,  so  they  didn't  any  of  'em  get  away." 

At  this  point,  clever  actress  that  she  was,  Miss  Daley 
extemporized  a  star  part  for  herself  by  rising  without 


76  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

warning  and  announcing  that  she  would  have  to  run  and 
change  for  the  scenes  to  be  photographed  as  soon  as  the 
tests  had  been  made. 

"I'll  hurry  and  try  to  get  ready  before  you  go,"  she  said, 
shaking  hands  all  round  with  charming  grace ;  "but  if  I 
don't  see  you  again,  it's  been  just  wonderful  to  meet  you 
all,  and  I  do  hope  this  isn't  good-bye  forever !" 

The  general  flutter  in  acknowledgment  of  her  farewells 
had  barely  subsided  when  the  bank  lights  hissed  out  and 
the  camera  stilled  its  stuttering. 

"Nice  little  scene,"  Mr.  Gulp  applauded  generously, 
intercepting  Luanda  as,  with  the  others,  she  left  the  set, 
clearing  it  for  the  individual  tests.  "Goin'  to  screen 
pretty.  You'll  be  surprised." 

"Can  you  really  tell,  Mr.  Gulp?" 

"How  it's  goin'  to  look  in  the  projectin'-room,  y'mean  ? 
Sure.  Not  that  I'd  gamble  on  my  own  judgment,  I  don't 
pretend  to  know  how  to  make  pitchers ;  all  I  know's  how 
to  make  money  makin'  'em,  d'y'see.  When  I  say  that 
little  scene's  goin'  to  go  great  on  the  screen,  I'm  bankin' 
on  Jack  here." 

He  dropped  an  affectionate,  fat  hand  on  the  shoulder  of 
the  cameraman.  "Excuse  me,  Mrs.  Druce,  want  to  intro- 
duce you  to  Mr.  Jack  Timilty,  best  little  cameraman  ever 
turned  a  crank."  The  cameraman  grinned  sheepishly  and 
preferred  a  diffident  hand.  "No  temp'ament,  no  funny 
business  about  Jack,  Mrs.  Druce,  always  on  the  job  and 
deliverin'  the  goods.  And  sticks,  d'y'see.  Take  it  the  way 
it  is  nowadays,  you  don't  hardly  get  time  to  get  to  know 
a  director  before  he  stings  somebody  else  for  a  coupla 
hundred  dollars  more'n  you're  paying  him,  d'y'see,  and 
quits  you  cold  as  soon's  he  finishes  his  pitcher.  But  Jack 
sticks.  That's  why  y'always  can  count  on  good  photog- 
raphy and  lightin'  effects  in  an  Alma  Daley  production. 
And  when  Jack  says  that  little  scene  took  pretty,  I  know 
it  did." 

"'Sright,    Mrs.    Druce,"    Mr.    Timilty    averred.      "I 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  77 

wouldn't  like  to  say  about  the  others,  but  you  and  that 
other  little  blonde  lady " 

"Mrs.  Lontaine." 

"Guess  so,  ma'm,  didn't  catch  her  name.  Her  and  you 
registered  like  a  million  dollars." 

"It's  awfully  nice  of  you  to  tell  me  so,  Mr.  Timilty " 

"Jack  wouldn't  pass  you  a  compliment  unless  he  meant 
it,  Mrs.  Druce.  He's  no  kidder." 

"Anyway  I  guess  it  ain't  the  first  time  anybody's  told 
you  that,  ma'm.  It's  easy  to  see  you've  been  camera- 
broke." 

"But  I  haven't,"  Lucinda  protested,  laughing.  "Really, 
I  assure  you " 

At  this  juncture  Mr.  Willing  called  for  Mr.  Timilty's 
co-operation  in  taking  the  test  of  Jean  Sedley.  So  Lucinda 
stood  aside  and  watched  and  wondered  if  it  were  really 
true  that  she  had  shown  any  evidences  of  ability  out  of  the 
ordinary. 

Not  that  it  mattered. 

Nevertheless  the  little  fillip  adminstered  to  her  self- 
esteem  made  her  feel  more  contented ;  into  the  bargain,  it 
deepened  her  interest  in  the  business  in  hand. 

Mr.  Willing  seemed  to  be  taking  a  deal  of  pains  to 
make  fair  and  thorough  tests.  For  each  of  the  four 
women  he  improvised  brief  but  effective  solo  scenes  to 
bring  out  their  best  points,  if  nothing  that  made  severe 
demands  upon  the  ability  of  the  subject  or  the  invention 
of  the  director. 

Lucinda,  for  example,  was  discovered  to  the  camera 
arranging  flowers  in  a  vase.  A  servant  entered,  delivered 
a  letter,  retired.  Lucinda  recognized  the  handwriting,  and 
(the  word  was  new  to  her  in  this  application)  "registered" 
delight,  then — as,  smiling,  she  opened  and  read  the  letter — • 
bewilderment,  misgivings,  and  a  shock  of  cruel  revelation 
which  strangled  all  joy  of  living  in  her,  struck  her  down, 
and  left  her  crushed  and  cringing  in  a  chair. 

Despite  a  natural  feeling  that  she  was  making  herself 


78  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

ridiculous,  Luanda  executed  to  the  best  of  her  ability  the 
gestures  prescribed  and  tried  to  impart  to  them  some 
colour  of  sincerity.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  was  sin- 
gularly (and  stupidly,  she  assured  herself)  anxious  to  de- 
serve the  further  commendation  of  Mr.  Gulp's  camera- 
man. 

But  it  was  at  best  a  trying  task  and,  when  it  came  to 
posing  for  the  close-up  with  a  wall  of  blinding  incan- 
descence only  a  few  feet  from  her  eyes,  a  true  ordeal. 
She  was  glad  when  it  was  over,  and  quite  satisfied  that  she 
wouldn't  care  to  repeat  the  experience,  in  spite  of  Mr. 
Timilty's  encouraging  "Pretty  work,  Mrs.  Drucel" — 
whose  source  she  could  only  surmise,  since  in  her  be- 
dazzled vision  everything  remained  a  blur  for  some  time 
after  she  had  been  delivered  from  the  torture  of  the 
lights. 

When  at  length  that  cloud  of  blindness  cleared,  Mr. 
Gulp  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Nor  did  he  show  up  again 
until  the  last  test  had  been  made  and  the  party,  once 
more  shepherded  by  Mr.  Lane,  was  on  the  point  of  leav- 
ing. Then  Gulp  put  in  a  hasty  reappearance,  coming  from 
the  direction  of  the  dressing-rooms,  nominated  an  hour 
for  projecting  the  tests  at  the  studio  the  next  afternoon, 
bade  a  hearty  good-bye  to  each  of  his  guests,  and  insisted 
on  escorting  Lucinda  to  the  door. 

On  the  way,  however,  he  managed  to  detain  her  and 
let  the  others  draw  ahead  and  out  of  hearing. 

"Lis'n,  Mrs.  Druce,"  he  abruptly  volunteered:  "Jack: 
says  your  test's  going  to  turn  out  great.  That's  just  what 
he  said — 'like  a  million  dollars.'  And  I  been  thinkin' 

.  .  .  I  was  speakin'  it  over  with  Mrs.  Gulp  in  her 
dressing-room,  d'y'see,  and  she's  strong  for  it,  says  she'd 
be  tickled  to  pieces.  She's  a  wonderful  little  woman,  Mrs. 
Gulp  is,  she  ain't  never  yet  made  any  mistake  about 
•nobody,  d'y'see,  and  she's  took  the  biggest  kind  a  fancy  to 
you,  and  says  tell  you  she's  sure  you'll  never  regret  it " 

"Please,  please,  Mr.  Gulp !    You  are  too  good,  and  it 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  79 

makes  me  most  happy  to  know  Mrs.  Gulp  thinks  well  of 
me.  But  what,"  Lucinda  laughed — "what  are  you  talking 
about?" 

"Why,"  said  Gulp  in  some  surprise — "I  was  thinkin' 
maybe  you'd  like  to  try  goin'  into  pitchers.  You  got 
everything  d'y'see,  looks  and  style  and  all,  everythin'  but 
experience;  and  that's  somethin'  you  can  get  right  here 
in  this  studio,  workin'  with  Mrs.  Gulp.  I  got  a  good  part 
for  you  in  her  next  pitcher  you  could  try  out  in,  and " 

"It's  awfully  kind  of  you,"  Lucinda  interrupted,  "and 
I'm  truly  appreciative,  Mr.  Gulp ;  but  really  I  couldn't 
think  of  it." 

"That  right?"  Gulp  seemed  to  be  genuinely  dashed. 
"  'S funny,"  he  observed  dejectedly.  "I  s'pose  you  know 
best  what  you  want  to  do,  but  it'd  be  great  little  experience 
for  you,  take  it  from  me,  Mrs.  Druce." 

"I'm  sure  it  would." 

"And  I  got  a  hunch  you'd  make  good  all  the  way. 
You've  got  things  nobody  else  on  the  screen's  got  but  my 
little  woman,  d'y'see,  and  it  wouldn't  be  no  time  at  all, 
maybe,  before  you'd  be  a  star  with  your  own  company. 
I'll  take  care  of  that,  you  wouldn't  have  to  worry  about 
the  money  end  of  it  at  all,  d'y'see " 

"But  what  if  I  don't  want  to  be  a  motion-picture  actress, 
Mr.  Gulp?" 

"Well,  of  course,  if  you  don't,  that's  different."  He 
pondered  gloomily  this  incomprehensible  freak.  "Lis'n," 
he  suggested,  brightening:  "Tell  you  what,  Mrs.  Druce: 
you  go  home  and  think  it  over.  You  got  all  night  and 
most  of  tomorrow — you  won't  be  comin'  here  to  look  at 
the  tests  till  five  o'clock,  d'y'see — and  if  you  should  want' 
to  change  your  mind,  I  stand  back  of  all  I  said.  All  you 
got  to  do  is  say  yes,  and  walk  right  into  a  nice  part,  fit 
you  like  a  glove,  in  the  next  Alma  Daley  pitcher " 

"Seriously,  Mr.  Gulp ;  if  I  should  think  it  over  for  a 
month,  my  decision  would  be  the  same.  But  thank  you 
ever  so  much — and  please  thank  Mrs.  Gulp  for  me,  too." 


80  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

"Well,"  Gulp  said  reluctantly,  holding  the  street  door, 
"if  that's  the  way  you  feel  about  it  ...  well,  of 
course  .  .  .  G'dnight,  Mrs.  Druce,  and  pleas't'meet 
you." 

The  street  was  dark  with  a  gentle  darkness  kind  to  eyes 
that  still  ached  and  smarted.  And  the  frosty  air  was 
grateful  to  one  coming  from  the  close  atmosphere  of  the 
studio,  heavy  with  its  composite  smell  of  steam-heated 
paint  and  dust  and  flesh. 

And  crossing  to  her  car,  Lucinda  experienced  a  vagary 
of  vivid  reminiscence.  Just  for  an  instant  the  clock  was 
turned  back  for  her  a  dozen  years  and  more,  she  was 
again  a  little  girl,  a  child  bringing  dazed  eyes  of  dream 
from  the  warm  and  scented  romance  of  a  matinee,  her 
thrilled  perceptions  groping  mutinously  toward  reconcilia- 
tion with  the  mysterious  verities  of  streets  mantled  in  blue 
twilight. 

That  passed  too  quickly,  too  soon  she  was  Lucinda 
Druce  once  more,  grown  up  and  married,  disillusioned  .  . 

And  with  a  shiver  of  pain  Lucinda  realized  anew  what 
the  afternoon  with  its  unsought  boons  of  novelty  and  di- 
version had  made  her  for  hours  on  end  forget,  the  secret 
dolour  of  her  heart. 


•\JOTWITHSTANDING  that  she  drove  directly 
JL  >l  home,  or  paused  only  to  drop  Daubeney  at  his  club 
and  the  Lontaines  at  their  hotel,  it  was  after  seven  when 
Lucinda  regained  her  rooms  and  was  free  at  last  to  be 
once  more  her  simple  self,  disembarrassed  of  the  pride 
and  circumstance  that  stayed  the  public  personality  of 
Mrs.  Bellamy  Druce. 

Out  of  that  social  character  she  stepped  as  naturally 
as  out  of  her  gown,  and  with  much  the  same  sense  of 
relief,  in  the  easing  of  that  tension  to  which  she  had  been 
keyed  all  afternoon.  Even  at  the  studio,  when  interest 
in  that  quaint,  ephemeral  environment  of  other  lives  had 
rendered  her  forgetful  of  both  self  and  the  passage  of 
time,  subconsciously  the  strain  of  keeping  up  appearances 
had  been  still  constant  and  made  unremitting  demands 
upon  her  stores  of  fortitude  and  nervous  energy. 

But  she  counted  that  cost  not  exorbitant,  seeing  the  im- 
munity it  had  purchased. 

Dobbin  alone  had  not  been  taken  in     ... 

She  began  to  be  a  bit  afraid  of  Dobbin.  A  danger  signal 
she  had  the  wit  to  apprehend  in  its  right  value.  The 
woman  who  pretends  to  be  afraid  is  setting  a  snare,  but 
she  who  is  truly  afraid  is  herself  already  in  the  toils. 

Dobbin  saw  too  much,  too  deeply  and  clearly,  and  let 
her  know  it  in  a  way  that  not  only  disarmed  resentment 
but  made  her  strangely  willing  to  let  him  see  more.  She 
to  whom  reserve  was  as  an  article  of  faith!  But  if  the 
woman  in  love  with  her  husband  knew  she  had  no  right 
to  foster  an  intimacy,  however  innocent,  with  any  other 
man,  the  woman  harassed  and  half-distracted  was  too 
81 


82  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

hungry  for  sympathetic  understanding  not  to  be  tempted 
when  it  offered,  grateful  for  it  and  disinclined  to  pass 
it  by. 

This  common  life  is  unending  quest  for  spiritual  com- 
panionship— and  love  is  the  delusion  that  one  has  found  it. 

At  twenty-six  Lucinda  was  learning  what  life  often 
takes  twice  that  tale  to  teach,  that  though  flesh  must  cleave 
unto  flesh,  the  soul  is  lost  unless  it  walk  alone,  creature 
and  creator  in  one  of  its  own  bleak  isolation. 

In  a  moment  of  clear  vision  she  promised  herself  to  go 
warily  with  Dobbin  .  .  . 

And  in  the  next,  the  telephone  rang  in  the  boudoir. 
Lucinda  was  in  her  bath,  so  her  maid  answered  for  her, 
and  presently  came  to  report:  Mr.  Druce  had  called  up 
to  say  he  wouldn't  be  dining  at  home  that  night,  he  was 
detained  by  a  "conference." 

Without  looking,  Lucinda  knew  that  the  woman's  eyes 
were  demure,  her  lips  twitching. 

Her  just  anger  of  that  afternoon  recurred  with  strength 
redoubled. 

Not  that  she  had  been  looking  forward  with  any  eager- 
ness to  the  evening,  the  "quiet"  dinner  during  which  Bel 
would  defiantly  continue  his  tippling,  the  subsequent  hours 
at  the  opera  poisoned  by  forebodings,  the  homeward  drive 
in  antagonized  silence,  finally  the  trite  old  scene  behind 
closed  doors,  of  the  piqued  wife  and  the  peccant  husband, 
with  its  threadbare  business  of  lies,  aggrieved  innocence, 
attempts  at  self -extenuation,  ultimate  collapse  and  con- 
fession, tears  of  penitence  and  empty  promises  .  .  . 
and  her  own  spirit  failing  and  in  the  end  yielding  to  Bel's 
importunity,  out  of  sheer  weariness  and  want  of  hope. 

It  had  been  sad  enough  to  have  all  that  to  anticipate. 
To  be  left  in  this  fashion,  at  loose  ends,  not  knowing  what 
to  expect,  except  the  worst,  was  too  much. 

On  leaving  her  bath  Lucinda  delayed  only  long  enough 
to  shrug  into  a  dressing-gown  before  going  to  the  tele- 
phone. 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  83 

The  voice  that  responded  to  her  call  said  it  thought  Mr. 
Daubeney  had  just  left  the  club,  but  if  madame  would 
hold  the  wire  it  would  make  sure. 

She  knew  a  moment  of  pure  exasperation  with  the  evi- 
dent conspiracy  of  every  circumstance  in  her  despite. 

Then  the  apparatus  at  her  ear  pronounced  in  crisp  im- 
patience: "Yes?  This  is  Mr.  Daubeney.  Who  wants 
him,  please?" 

"Oh,  Dobbin !    I'm  so  glad." 

"You,  Cinda !"  The  instantaneous  change  of  tone  would 
have  been  laughable  if  it  hadn't  been  worse,  the  cause  of 
a  little  flutter  of  forbidden  delight.  v'Why,  bless  your 
soul !  I'm  glad  I  came  back.  They  barely  caught  me  at 
the  door." 

"Were  you  in  a  hurry  to  get  on  somewhere,  Dobbin? 
I  mean,  am  I  detaining  you  ?" 

"Not  a  bit.  Foolishly  staggering  out  to  try  to  find  some 
place  where  the  cooking  was  less  perfunctory  than  here 
at  the  club." 

"Sure  you've  got  nothing  important  on?" 

"If  you  must  know,  I  was  wondering  what  to  do  with 
a  lonely  evening." 

"Then  that  makes  two  of  us.  Why  can't  we  join  forces 
and  be  miserable  together?" 

"With  you?  I'll  do  my  best,  but  I  don't  promise  .  .  . 
What's  up?" 

"Oh,  everything,  more  or  less.  I'm  in  a  villainous 
temper,  Dobbin,  and  you'll  be  a  dear  if  you'll  come  and 
dine  with  me — Bel's  telephoned  he  won't  be  home — talk 
me  into  a  decent  humour  and  take  me  to  the,  opera. 
And  then — I  don't  care  what  we  do !" 

"Well,  if  you're  half  as  reckless  as  you  try  to  make 
out,  you  certainly  need  somebody  to  keep  you  from 
kicking  over  the  traces." 

"Then  you  will  come?" 

"Stop  pretending  to  be  stupid.     When?" 

"As  soon  as  you  like." 


84  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

Later,  seated  at  her  dressing-table,  adding  those  deft 
touches  whose  secret  one  woman  in  ten  thousand  knows, 
touches  which  lift  an  evening  toilette  out  of  the  ruck  of 
commonplace  prettiness  and  render  it  wholly  sorcerous, 
Lucinda  caught  in  her  mirror  an  odd  look  of  dubious 
speculation  on  the  face  of  the  maid  who  waited  by  her 
shoulder. 

Half  an  hour  earlier  such  a  look  would  have  irritated, 
now  its  impertinence  had  no  more  effect  than  to  make 
Lucinda  smile  illegibly  at  her  image  in  the  glass.  What 
did  it  matter  what  questions  might  be  taking  form  in 
that  shallow  mind?  If  Bel  could  afford  to  ignore  the 
gossip  of  servants,  that  had  its  source  in  knowledge  of  his 
escapades  no  doubt  infinitely  more  detailed  and  precise 
than  she  might  ever  hope  or  fear  to  gain — why,  so  could 
Bel's  wife  afford  to  go  her  own  way  and  let  this  scandal- 
mongering  world  go  hang. 

Whether  or  not  she  could  afford  it,  she  meant  hence- 
forward to  make  her  own  life — as  Bel  did,  as  everybody 
did — and  an  end  to  this  drifting  with  the  winds  of  forlorn 
and  fading  hopes.  She  was  too  young,  too  proud,  too 
richly  warmed  by  ardent  wine  of  life,  to  accept  without  a 
murmur  affronts  and  slights  such  as  were  now  her  daily 
portion,  without  a  struggle  reconcile  herself  to  the  estate 
of  the  outworn  wife,  tolerated  mainly  as  an  ornamental 
prop  to  the  dignity  of  the  house  of  Druce. 

Bel  should  learn     .     .     . 

Poised  lightly  before  the  cheval-glass  for  the  final  in- 
spection from  head  to  foot,  she  perceived  that  she  had 
never  made  herself  lovelier  for  Bel;  and  Dobbin's  spon- 
taneous tribute  as  she  entered  the  drawing-room  agree- 
ably confirmed  this  judgment. 

"Heavens,  Cinda!    how  do  you  do  it?" 

"Like  the  way  I  look  tonight?" 

"Like !  It's  unfair,  it's  premeditated  cruelty,  monstrous  ! 
You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  to  look  like  that 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  85 

to  a  man  who's  having  a  tough-enough  fight  with  himself 
as  it  is." 

"Fraud,"  Lucinda  commented  coolly.  "You  know  you 
fancy  yourself  no  end  in  the  role  of  the  luckless  lover, 
you'd  be  scared  silly  if  I  gave  you  any  reason  to  fear 
you'd  ever  have  another  part  to  play." 

"Try  me  and  see." 

"No  fear.  I  like  you  too  well  as  you  are.  The  part 
fits  you  to  perfection,  you  do  play  it  beautifully.  Please 
don't  ever  stop :  I  love  it." 

"Imp !  You  need  a  good  shaking.  Don't  you  know 
you're  flirting  with  me?" 

"Do  you  mind?" 

"Oh,  no.  Not  if  it  amuses  you.    Not  if  you'll  play  fair." 

"What  do  you  call  unfair?" 

"For  one  thing,  the  way  you've  turned  yourself  out 
tonight." 

"But  only  a  moment  ago  you  were  leading  me  to  believe 
I'd  turned  out  at  least  passing  fair."  Lucinda  affected  a 
sigh.  "And  I  was  so  happy  to  think  I'd  found  favour !" 

"I  presume  the  intellectual  level  would  be  lowered  if  I 
were  to  say  with  What's-his-name,  'If  she  be  not  fair  to 
me,  what  care  I  how  fair  she  be'?" 

But  Lucinda,  in  a  pensive  turn,  shook  her  head  and, 
eyeing  him  gravely,  murmured :  "I  wonder  ..." 

"What  do  you  wonder,  Cinda?" 

"What  you  told  me  last  night.     .     .    Was  it  true  ?" 

"That  I  had  never  stopped  being  in  love  with  you  ?  God 
help  me !  that  was  true  enough,  too  true." 

"Then  I  wonder  if  it's  fair  to  you,  and  to  me,  the  way 
we're  going.  I  mean  ..."  She  faltered,  with  a 
sign  of  petulance.  "Be  patient  with  me,  Dobbin.  It  isn't 
easy  to  figure  some  things  out,  you  know.  I  mean,  if  you 
are  in  love  with  me " 

"Forget  the  'if'." 

"And  Bel  is  not  .  .  .  Oh,  no,  he  isn't!  He's  in 
love  with  the  figure  he  cuts  as  my  lord  and  master  and  the 


86  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

dashing  beau  of  every  other  pretty  woman — not  with  me. 
Well !  since  you  are  and  he  isn't,  and  I'm  discontented,  and 
so  fond  of  you,  Dobbin:  is  it  fair  to  either  of  us — because 
I'm  bound  to  think  of  you,  you  know,  and  can't  very  well 
think  of  you  dispassionately  ..."  She  concluded 
with  a  little  shrug  and  a  deprecating  smile*  "I  don't 
know,  Dobbin,  I  really  don't  know !" 

"It  isn't  fair,"  he  said — "of  course — unless — " 

She  nodded  seriously:    "That's  just  it." 

"I  can  only  say,  Cinda,  whatever  you  do  or  say  or 
think  is  right.  It's  all  for  you  to  decide." 

"And  I'm  afraid  I  can't — not  yet,  at  least.  And  when 
I  do,  I  ought  to  warn  you,  the  chances  are  I  shan't  decide 
the  way  you  want  me  to." 

"I  know.  But  don't  worry  about  me.  I  can  take  pun- 
ishment, I've  proved  that,  I  think.  So  do  what  seems 
best  to  you.  I'll  faithfully  follow  your  lead.  I  only  want 
to  play  the  game." 

"And  I  .  .  .  But  we  both  want  to  be  sure  it's  worth 
the  scandal,  don't  we,  Dobbin  ?" 

"You  joke  about  what's  life  and  death  to  me !" 

"I  did  it  on  purpose,  old  dear."  Lucinda  tapped  his 
arm  intimately  with  her  fan.  "Yes,  I  did.  I  don't  want 
you  to  think,  afterwards — if  it  turns  out  so  you'd  be 
tempted  to  think  it — that  I  didn't,  as  you  say,  play  fair. 
So  it's  only  fair  to  let  you  find  out  as  soon  as  possible 
that  I'm  an  incurably  frivolous  person,  Dobbin,  vain, 
trifling,  flippant,  and — I'm  afraid — a  flirt." 

"Not  you!" 

"Truly.  Haven't  I  been  letting  you  believe  I  made  my- 
self pretty  tonight  for  your  sake?  It  isn't  true,  at  least 
not  all  true.  It  was  for  my  own  sake,  really,  because 
we're  going  to  the  opera,  and  everybody  I  know  will  see 
me  there,  and  I  want  them  to  know  what  Bel  neglects  for 
his — other  women!" 

From  the  doorway  an  unctuous  voice  announced :  "Din- 
ner is  served,  madam." 


XI 

IN  this  newest  phase  of  that  day's  protean  gamut,  in 
this  temper  of  reckless  yet  cool  determination  to 
avenge  her  pride  and  coerce  life  into  rendering  up  all 
that  it  had  of  late  withheld,  she  put  every  curbing  consid- 
eration behind,  and  resolutely  set  herself  for  that  night 
at  least  to  live  only  for  the  moment  and  wring  from  each 
its  ultimate  drop  of  pleasure,  to  be  amused  and  to  be 
amusing,  to  make  fete  and  to  be  feted. 

Daubeney,  wanting  whom  all  her  efforts  must  have 
been  wasted,  for  whether  she  love  him  or  not  a  woman 
needs  a  man  in  love  with  her  at  hand  to  be  at  her  best — 
Dobbin  was  fairly  dazzled,  not  so  much  by  charms  of  per- 
son never  more  witching  as  by  gay  spirits  the  gayer  for 
this  sudden  indulgence  after  long  inhibition,  by  delicate 
audacity,  wit  swift,  mutable  and  pungent,  and  passages 
of  sheer  bravuia  in  Luanda's  exposition  of  the  arts  of 
coquetry. 

The  way  she  flirted  with  him  was  something  shameful. 
For  the  matter  of  that,  never  a  masculine  moth  blundered 
into  the  Druce  box  during  the  entr'actes  but  flopped  daz- 
edly away,  wondering  what  the  deuce  was  the  matter 
with  old  Bellamy,  had  he  gone  absolutely  balmy.  But 
Dobbin  in  his  capacity  of  cavalier  servente  suffered  more 
than  anybody,  for  she  took  an  impish  delight  in  luring 
him  beyond  his  depth  and  then  leaving  him  to  flounder 
out  as  best  he  might. 

"See  here!"  he  reminded  her  indignantly  as  the  cur- 
tain rose  on  the  last  act  of  Louise — "you  promised  to  play 
fair."  Lucinda  arched  mocking  brows  above  round  eyes. 
"Don't  call  this  sort  of  thing  keeping  your  word,  do  you  ?" 
87 


88  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

"Aren't  you  having  a  good  time,  Dobbin  dear  ?"  In  the 
half-light  of  the  box  Lucinda  leaned  slightly  toward  him, 
and  her  delicious  voice  dripped  sympathy.  "I'm  so  sorry, 
I've  been  trying  so  hard  not  to  bore  you." 

"I  didn't  say  I  was  bored.  I  ain't — I'm  being  plagued 
by  a  heartless  young  she-devil  that  ought  to  be  spanked 
and  sent  to  bed.  Damn  it,  Cinda !  you  not  only  ought  to, 
you  do  know  better.  You  know  /  take  it  seriously.  But 
you — you're  merely  playing." 

"But  with  fire— eh,  Dobbin?" 

"You  know  that,  too." 

"And  you're  warning  me  lest  I  get  singed?"  Lucinda 
contrived  to  look  a  little  awed.  "How  thoughtful !" 

"Don't  make  me  out  a  greater  dunce  than  I  am." 

"Meaning  you  don't  think  I'm  in  any  danger  of  getting 
scorched,  carrying  on  with  you?" 

"Worse  luck!" 

"Dobbin:  have  you  been  deceiving  me,  aren't  you  the 
least  bit  inflammable,  after  all  ?" 

"You  know  jolly  well  I  took  fire  years  ago  and 
have  never  since  managed  to  get  the  conflagration  under 
control.  Isn't  ladylike  to  put  the  bellows  to  flames  you 
don't  mean  to  quench." 

"How  appallingly  technical!  But  you  do  sputter  so 
entertainingly,  Dobbin — burning  under  forced  draught,  I 
presume  you'd  say,  with  your  passion  for  riding  a  meta- 
phor till  it  flounders — I'm  not  sure  I'd  care  to  see  you 
quenched ;  I  hate  to  think  of  you  being  put  out  with  me." 

"You  play  with  words  precisely  as  you  play  with  me." 

"You  think  so?  Well,  perhaps,  but — Dobbin — don't 
be  too  sure.  Think  how  sad  it  would  be  if  you  were  to 
find  out,  too  late,  you'd  been  mistaken,  you'd  meant  more 
to  me  than  words  could  tell,  more  than  you  knew." 

Over  this  equivoque  Dobbin  shook  a  baffled  head ;  and 
Lucinda  laughed,  glanced  carelessly  toward  the  stage  to 
make  sure  that  the  act  still  was  young,  and  offered  to 
rise. 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  89 

"Let's  not  stay  any  longer,  Dobbin,  or  we'll  be  caught 
in  the  carriage  jam.  Let's  trot  along  and  have  a  good 
time." 

"What's  the  next  jump  ?" 

"To  the  Palais  Royal."  Dobbin  uttered  an  involuntary 
sound  of  dissent.  "Why  not?  Julie  Allingham  wants  us 
to  join  her  party — says  everybody  goes  there  nowadays, 
and  it's  desperately  rowdy  and  loads  of  fun — said  to  ask 
for  her  box  and  make  ourselves  at  home  if  we  got  there 
before  she  did." 

Mrs.  Allingham  was  not  one  of  Daubeney's  favorites. 
A  persevering  body,  with  a  genius  for  trading  in  last  sea- 
son's husband  for  the  latest  model,  gifted  likewise  with 
incurable  impudence  and  poverty  of  tact,  both  of  which 
she  was  clever  enough  to  veneer  with  vivacity  and  exploit 
as  whimsical  idiosyncrasies,  she  failed  to  measure  up  ta 
his  notion  of  the  type  of  woman  with  whom  Lucinda 
ought  to  be  seen.  He  had  been  civil,  no  more,  when  she 
had  danced  into  the  box  during  the  first  entr'acte  to 
make  a  public  fuss  over  her  darling  Cindy,  and  then — en- 
gaged in  small-talk  by  Julie's  satellites,  two  sleek  but 
otherwise  featureless  bloods — had  failed  to  hear  her  in- 
vitation ;  and  Julie  had  carefully  f drgotten  to  remind  him 
of  it  on  taking  her  leave. 

So  Daubeney  wasn't  pleased  as  he  helped  Lucinda  with 
her  wraps;  and  she  read  disgruntlement  in  his  silence 
and  constraint. 

"You  don't  want  to  go,  Dobbin?    With  me?    Why?" 

"With  you,  anywhere.  But  ..."  He  mustered 
an  unconvincing  grin.  "Oh,  it's  all  right,  of  course.  But 
Julie  Allingham — you  know — really !" 

Lucinda's  mouth  tightened,  for  an  instant  her  eyes  held 
a  sullen  light.  "How  tiresome!  You  sound  just  like 
Bel.  How  often  have  I  heard  him  use  almost  the  same 
words :  'June  Allingham — you  know — really !'  " 

"Sorry,"  Dobbin  said  stiffly. 


90  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

"What's  the  matter  with  Julie  Allingham?"  Lucinda 
demanded  in  a  pet.  "She's  amusing,  I  like  her." 

"Then  there's  nothing  more  to  be  said." 

"Oh,  you're  all  alike,  you,  Bel,  and  all  the  rest  of  you !" 

"Think  so?" 

"What  if  Julie  has  made  history  of  a  few  husbands? 
At  least,  she's  been  honest  about  her  changes  of  heart; 
when  she  tired  of  one,  she  got  rid  of  him  legally  before 
taking  on  another.  I  call  that  more  decent  treatment  than 
most  men  give  their  wives." 

"Never  having  had  a  wife,  can't  argue." 

"Oh,  you  sound  more  like  Bel  every  minute !  Do  come 
along." 

All  at  once  her  succes  had  evaporated  into  thin  air,  the 
flavour  of  it,  that  had  been  so  sweet,  had  gone  flat,  like 
champagne  too  long  uncorked.  And  all  (she  thought) 
because  Dobbin  with  his  stupid  prejudices  had  reminded 
her  of  Bel! 

It  began  to  seem  as  if  there  might  have  been  more  truth 
than  she  had  guessed  in  her  assertion  that  men  were  all 
alike  in  their  attitude  toward  women,  toward  their  wives 
and  toward — the  others. 

But  if  that  were  so  (surely  she  wasn't  the  first  to 
glimpse  an  immortal  truth)  why  did  women  ever  marry? 

And  why,  in  the  name  of  reason !  having  once  worried 
through  the  ordeal  of  having  a  husband,  did  any  woman 
ever  repeat  an  experiment  which  experience  should  have 
taught  her  was  predestined  to  prove  a  failure? 

She  emerged  from  a  brown  study  to  find  herself  in  the 
car,  with  Dobbin  at  her  side  watching  her  thoughtfully. 

"Cross  with  me,  Cinda?" 

With  an  effort  Lucinda  shrugged  out  of  her  ill-humour. 

"No,  of  course  not.  With  myself,  rather,  for  being  a 
silly.  Dobbin:  you're  a  dear." 

"I  know,"  he  agreed  with  comic  complacence ;  "but  it 
doesn't  get  me  anywhere." 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  91 

"You're  not  very  flattering.  I  don't  tell  every  man  he's 
a  dear." 

"I'm  wondering  what  the  term  means  to  you." 

"It  means  a  great  deal." 

"But  what  are  the  privileges  and  appurtenances  of  a 
dear's  estate  in  your  esteem?  Does  it  carry  the  right  to 
take  liberties?" 

"It  might  be  worth  your  while  to  try  and  find  out." 

"Well  .  .  .  It's  been  a  question  in  my  mind  ever 
since  last  night,  and  something  you  said  just  now  .  .  . 
Is  the  inference  justified,  you  and  Druce  aren't  getting 
along  too  well?" 

"Oh,  do  stop  reminding  me  of  Bel!  I  do  so  want  to 
forget  him  for  tonight." 

"Then  it's  worse  than  I  thought." 

"It's  worse  than  anybody  thinks  that  doesn't  know, 
Dobbin." 

"So  he  hasn't  changed    ..." 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"Why,  I  used  to  know  Bellamy  pretty  well,  pal  around 
with  him  and  that  sort  of  thing  ..." 

"No,"  said  Lucinda  slowly,  eyes  straight  ahead — "if  you 
mean  what  I  mean,  Bel  hasn't  changed." 

"Then  ..."  Daubeney  found  a  hand  which  Lu- 
cinda resigned  to  his  without  a  struggle.  "As  a  man  who 
truly  loves  you,  dear,  and  always  has,  I  think  the  right  is 
mine  to  ask  yet  another  question:  What  are  you  going 
to  do  ?" 

She  shook  her  head  dolefully :  "I  don't  know  yet." 

"You  said  last  night  you  were  still  in  love    ..." 

"Last  night  it  was  true." 

"But  today ?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"I  won't  ask  you  what  has  happened,  Cinda " 

"Please  don't.    I  don't  want  to  talk  about  it." 

"Only  I  must  know  one  thing :  Is  there  anyone  else — 
with  you,  I  mean  ?" 


92  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

Lucinda  met  those  devoted  eyes  honestly.  "No,  Dobbin, 
I'm  sorry — not  even  you  ..." 

"Then  that's  all  right.  No  need  for  either  of  us  to 
worry.  You'll  come  through  with  flying  colours.  Only, 
don't  do  anything  in  haste,  and  right  or  wrong,  count 
on  me." 

Lucinda  gave  his  fingers  a  friendly  pressure  and  disen- 
gaged her  hand.  "Dear  Dobbin,"  she  said  gently. 

The  car  was  pulling  in  toward  a  corner. 


XII 

HOUGH  they  had  left  the  Metropolitan  long  before 
-L  the  final  curtain,  on  Broadway  the  midnight  tidal 
bore  of  motor  traffic  was  even  then  gathering  way  and 
volume,  the  first  waves  of  after-theatre  patrons  were 
washing  the  doorsteps  of  those  sturdy  restaurants  which 
had  withstood  the  blast  of  Prohibition,  the  foyer  of  the 
Palais  Royal  already  held  a  throng  of  some  propor- 
tions. In  this  omnium-gatherum  of  confirmed  New  York- 
ers and  self-determined  suburbicides,  arrayed  in  every 
graduation  of  formal,  semi-formal  and  informal  dress, 
and  drawn  together  by  the  happy  coup  of  that  year's 
press-agent  in  heralding  the  establishment  as  a  favorite 
resort  of  what  the  Four  Million  still  styles  its  Four  Hun- 
dred, the  women  stood  grouped  in  their  wraps  and  wist- 
fully watching  their  men- folk  importune  a  head  waiter 
who  was  heroically  holding  the  staircase  against  all-com- 
ers, passing  only  the  fore-handed  in  the  matter  of  reserva- 
tions, and  putting  all  others  to  ignominious  rout  with  the 
standardized  statement  that  there  was  not  a  table  upstairs 
left  untaken. 

At  first  glance,  the  huge  main  room  on  the  second 
story,  with  its  serried  semicircles  of  tables  and  its  flam- 
boyant colour  scheme,  seemed  less  frequented  by  clients 
than  by  waiters ;  but  the  influx  of  the  former  was  constant, 
and  when,  shortly  after  Lucinda  and  Daubeney  had  been 
seated,  a  gang  of  incurable  melomaniacs  crashed,  blared 
and  whanged  into  a  jazz  fox-trot,  the  oval  dance  floor 
was  quickly  hidden  by  swaying  couples. 

For  some  minutes  Lucinda  sat  looking  out  over  with- 
out seeing  these  herded  dancers,  only  aware  of  the 
93 


94  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

shifting  swirl  of  colour  and  the  hypnotic  influence  of 
savage  music,  her  thoughts  far  from  this  decadent  adap- 
tation of  jungle  orgies  which  she  had  come  to  witness. 
And  presently  a  smile  began  to  flicker  in  the  depths  of 
her  eyes. 

"Oh !"  she  said,  rousing  when  Daubeney  uttered  a  note 
of  interrogation — "I  was  thinking  about  this  afternoon, 
remembering  that  funny  little  man  moping  and  mowing  in 
his  magnificent  delusion  that  he  was  conducting  an  or- 
chestra." 

"It  was  amusing,  illuminating,  too.  One  begins  to  un- 
derstand why  the  movies  are  what  they  are.  If  I'm  not 
mistaken,  the  author  of  that  asinine  exhibition  is  rated  as 
one  of  the  ablest  directors  in  the  business." 

Lucinda  quoted  Mr.  Lane's  eulogy  of  King  Laughlin. 

"Well,  there  you  are,"  Dobbin  commented.  "I  pre- 
sume genius  must  be  humoured  in  its  poses;  even  so,  I 
saw  nothing  in  Laughlin's  directing  to  offset  the  silliness 
of  his  performance  with  the  orchestra.  I  should  say  the 
business  is  poorly  organized  that  permits  men  of  his 
calibre,  with  so  little  sense  of  balance,  to  hold  positions 
of  absolute  authority." 

"You  don't  think  Mr.  Lane  may  have  exaggerated  Mr. 
Laughlin's  importance " 

"Perhaps ;  though  he  was  honoured  with  suspicious  rev- 
erence by  everybody  present." 

"Except  Mr.  Gulp." 

"Well,  yes ;  Gulp  didn't  seem  so  much  overpowered.  All 
the  same,  I  noticed  he  didn't  attempt  to  call  Laughlin  to 
order." 

"But  possibly  the  man  is  a  genius.  He  seemed  to  know 
what  he  was  about  when  he  was  showing  them  how  to 
play  that  scene." 

"I'll  admit  his  grasp  of  primary  mechanics;  but  the 
scene  as  he  built  it  would  have  been  ridiculous  in  the 
theatre." 

"But  it  wasn't  for  a  theatre,  it  was  for  the  movies." 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  95 

"Precisely  my  point.  Why  should  motion-picture 
plays  be  less  plausibly  done  than  plays  on  the  stage?  The 
American  theatre  outgrew  'Nellie,  the  Beautiful  Cloak 
Model'  long  before  motion-pictures  were  seriously  thought 
of ;  I  mean,  American  audiences  outgrew  such  trash.  Yet 
today  our  movies  are  shaped  on  identically  the  lines  of 
the  popular  melodrama  that  was  laughed  off  the  boards 
a  generation  ago.  There's  something  wrong." 

For  some  reason  which  Lucinda  didn't  stop  to  analyze, 
Daubeney's  arguments  stirred  up  a  spirit  of  contentious- 
ness. 

"At  all  events,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gulp  seemed  satisfied." 

"Two  people  who  have  made  a  huge  lot  of  money  in  an 
astonishingly  short  time :  it  isn't  likely  they'd  be  disposed 
to  interfere  with  the  system  that  enriched  them,  even  al- 
lowing that  they  are  sensible  of  its  defects." 

Lucinda  caught  herself  frowning,  then  had  the  grace 
to  laugh.  "Can't  make  me  believe  they're  lacking  in  ar- 
tistic appreciation,  Dobbin." 

"Why  not?" 

"You  don't  know  about  the  handsome  offer  Mr.  Culp 
made  me,  with  his  wife's  approval,  just  as  we  were  going 
away." 

It  was  Dobbin's  turn  to  frown.  "What  kind  of  an 
offer?"  he  demanded  shortly. 

"To  become  a  movie  actress  under  the  Culp  banner,  a 
sister-in-art  to  Alma  Daley." 

Daubeney  ejaculated  "What  for?"  with  an  expression 
of  such  utter  dumbf  ounderment  that  Lucinda  gasped  with 
stifled  mirth,  then  gave  way  to  outright  laughter. 

"You're  awfully  funny,  Dobbin!  And  they  thought 
they  were  paying  me  a  compliment." 

But  Daubeney  would  not  see  the  fun  of  it. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  fellow  Culp  actually  had 
the  impertinence " 

"Oh,  come!"  Lucinda's  amusement  subsided.  "It 
wasn't  so  bad  as  all  that.  Mr.  Culp  was  most  kind,  at 


96  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

least  he  meant  to  be.  He  said  he,  his  wife  and  his  camera- 
man— whose  opinion  he  values  more  highly  than  any  di- 
rector's— all  agreed  I  had  shown  a  great  deal  of  promise; 
and  that,  if  I  cared  to  try  it  on,  he'd  be  glad  to  give  me  a 
good  part  in  Miss  Daley's  next  picture,  and  if  I  made  good 
in  that  he'd  form  a  company  to  star  me." 

"What  rot!" 

"Dobbin !" 

"They're  trying  to  work  you " 

"But,  my  dear!  isn't  it  barely  possible  Mr.  Gulp  was 
sincere  ?" 

"The  thing's  absurd  on  the  face  of  it." 

"Isn't  that  a  matter  of  opinion  ?" 

"It's  a  characteristic  scheme  to  exploit  you  to  Alma 
Daley's  profit,  to  get  her  a  lot  of  publicity  on  the  cheap 
by  letting  the  newspapers  announce  that  Mrs.  Bellamy 
Druce  is  going  to  act  in  her  support." 

"You  won't  admit,  then,"  Lucinda  persisted,  nettled, 
"I  may  possibly  have  some  latent  ability  as  a  motion-pic- 
ture actress?" 

"It  doesn't  matter.  The  proposition  is  a  piece  of — of 
preposterous  impudence.  What  did  you  say  to  Gulp  ?" 

With  countenance  half  averted,  Lucinda  said  coldly: 
"My  dear  Dobbin :  do  you  realize  you're  being  rude  ?" 

He  was  all  contrition.  "Oh,  I'm  sorry,  Cinda,  if  I 
let  my  indignation  on  your  behalf " 

"Gratuitous,  you'll  admit." 

Daubeney  reddened  and  swallowed  hard.  "I-repeat:  I 
didn't  mean  to  offend.  I  apologize." 

"Very  well,  Dobbin.    Let's  say  no  more  about  it." 

But  Lucinda's  tone  lacked  friendliness,  and  the  eyes 
were  visibly  sulky  that,  refusing  to  recognize  his  pleading, 
blindly  surveyed  the  milling  riot  of  dancers. 

The  silence  that  fell  between  them,  like  a  curtain  of 
muffling  folds,  was  presently  emphasized  by  an  abrupt 
suspension  of  the  music.  When  Daubeney  could  endure  it 
no  longer,  he  broke  it  with  a  question,  the  most  impolitic 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  97 

conceivable:  "You  didn't  tell  me  what  answer  you  gave 
Gulp,  Cinda?" 

"Didn't  I?    But  I'm  sure  it  doesn't  matter." 

To  himself,  but  half-aloud,  Dobbin  groaned:  "Oh,  the 
devil!" 

But  his  manifest  penitence  earned  him  no  more  than  a 
show  of  restoration  to  favour.  The  heart  in  Lucinda's 
bosom  felt  hot  and  hard  and  heavy  with  chagrin,  she  had 
banked  so  confidently  on  Dobbin's  sympathy  .  .  .  He 
might  be  truly  in  love  with  her,  she  hadn't  much  doubt 
that  he  was,  but  the  understanding  she  had  counted  on 
was  denied  her,  the  sense  of  security  in  his  affection  was 
no  more.  She  felt  cruelly  bereft,  more  desolate  than  at 
any  time  since  the  breach  with  Bel  had  begun  to  seem  un- 
bridgeable. 

It  made  no  difference  that  she  knew  this  feeling  was  un- 
fair to  both,  that  its  childishness  was  clear  to  her  whom 
it  victimized  the  most.  The  day-long  drain  upon  her  emo- 
tions was  inexorably  exacting  its  due.  With  no  more 
provocation  than  a  sting  of  puerile  pique,  she  had  lost  her 
temper,  and  all  her  efforts  to  retrieve  it  seemed  unavail- 
ing. She  felt  broken,  beaten,  and  very  tired,  she  wanted 
to  creep  away  to  bed  and  cry  herself  asleep.  Yet  she  must 
somehow  find  strength  to  hold  up,  or  forfeit  self-re- 
spect, she  dared  not  confess  the  stuff  of  her  spirit  as  mean 
as  her  heart's.  She  shook  herself  impatiently  .  .  . 

At  the  same  time  the  band  rewarded  tireless  hand- 
clapping  by  again  breaking  loose  in  blasts  of  delirious 
cacophony,  and  Lucinda  pushed  back  her  chair. 

"Don't  let's  talk  any  more  for  a  while,  Dobbin — I'd 
rather  dance." 

Descending  the  several  steps  from  the  box  level  to  the 
common,  they  threaded  their  way  through  a  jam  of  tables 
to  the  fringe  of  the  dance-mad  mob,  in  whose  closely- 
packed,  rocking  and  surging  rout  considerable  imagina- 
tion and  ingenuity  were  required  to  find  room.  Neverthe- 
less Daubeney  adroitly  created  a  space  where  none  had 


98  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

been,  and  swinging  smoothly  away,  they  became  one  with 
and  lost  in  the  crush,  their  progress  of  necessity  slow  but 
amazingly  easy,  for  Daubeney  led  with  grace  and  skill. 

Lucinda  tried  to  forget  her  vexation  in  watching  the 
faces  of  their  fellow  dancers  and  their  styles,  a  diversion 
which  seldom  failed  to  flood  her  being,  even  when  she  was 
saddest,  with  sweetness  and  light. 

All  about  them  couples  were  practising  every  con- 
ceivable variety  of  step  that  could  be  executed  to  the 
rhythm  beaten  out  by  tireless  drums  whose  timbre  had  all 
the  grim  and  weirdly  stimulating  monotony  of  African 
tom-toms.  Many  contented  themselves  with  a  solemn, 
wellnigh  ritualistic  jigging  by  means  of  which  they  tra- 
versed the  floor  crab-wise,  inch  by  inch.  Others  charged 
short  distances  at  headlong  speed,  checked  short,  whirled 
madly,  darted  and  swooped  again  with  incredible  agility, 
in  a  sort  of  corybantic  frenzy.  Still  others  favoured  a 
tedious  twirling,  like  amorous  dervishes.  Yet  there  were 
strangely  few  collisions  .  .  . 

Young  things  drifted  by  with  faces  buried  in  the 
shoulders  of  their  partners,  whether  for  shame  or  in  som- 
nambulism it  was  impossible  to  say.  Those  who  are  al- 
ways with  us,  locked  as  in  a  death-grapple,  ploughed 
doggedly  along  with  tense  mouths  and  rapt  eyes.  Couples 
whose  mutual  passion  was  stronger  than  feminine  regard 
for  the  most  carefully  composed  complexion,  moved  as 
one,  her  cheek  glued  to  his.  Portly  and  bedizened  dowa- 
gers wore  set  smiles  on  lips  that  moved  to  inaudible  count- 
ing, and  their  paid  partners,  professional  young  male 
dancers,  that  patient  yet  abstracted  expression  that  tells  of 
bandaged,  swollen  feet.  Little  girls  who  apparently 
should  have  been  at  home,  getting  a  good  night's  rest  in 
preparation  for  a  long  school-day  tomorrow,  lifted  up 
unformed,  flower  faces  breathlessly  to  the  hard,  mature 
faces  of  the  vulpine  men  who  held  them. 

Lucinda  saw  those  to  whom  this  was  adventure,  those 
to  whom  it  was  romance,  those  to  whom  it  was  physical 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  99 

agony,  and  those  to  whom  it  was  a  source  of  soul-destroy- 
ing ennui.  She  smelt  the  breath  of  sticky  bodies  and  the 
cloying  perfumes  in  which  the  optimistic  reposed  mistaken 
faith. 

And  all  her  movements  were,  like  theirs,  measured  by 
the  swing  of  that  giggling,  grunting,  whistling,  clanging, 
moaning  band  .  .  . 

Suddenly  she  knew  she  had  had  enough. 

"It's  too  crowded,"  she  told  Dobbin;  and  he  nodded 
agreement.  "Shall  we  stop  when  we  get  around  to  our 
box?" 

Without  warning  more  than  a  smothered  cry  of  alarm 
in  a  woman's  voice,  Lucinda  was  struck  by  a  wildly 
careering  body  with  such  force  that  she  lost  footing  al- 
together and  must  have  fallen  but  for  Dobbin,  who  in- 
stantly tightened  his  hold  and  braced  himself  against  the 
dead  drag  of  her  weight,  this  though  the  shock  of  col- 
lision almost  carried  him  off  his  own  feet. 

Simultaneously  the  floor  shook  with  the  impact  of  two 
heavy  falls.  And  clinging  to  Dobbin,  a  little  dazed,  Lucin- 
da saw  a  strikingly  pretty  young  woman,  stunningly  un- 
dressed, sprawling  at  her  feet,  and  at  a  yard's  distance 
a  man  in  similar  plight. 

Derisive  cackles  and  guffaws  of  clowns  broke  out  on 
all  sides,  a  space  was  cleared  round  the  unfortunates. 

"Are  you  all  right,  Cinda?"  Dobbin  asked.  She  nodded 
and  tried  to  smile.  "Sure  you're  not  hurt?" 

She  shook  her  head  vigorously,  and  by  way  of  proof 
stood  out  of  his  arms,  but  swayed  dizzily  and,  with  a 
little  apologetic  laugh,  caught  at  one  of  them  again. 

"All  right,"  Dobbin  said  hastily.    "Let's  get  out  of  this." 

"No — wait !"  Lucinda  insisted.    "Perhaps  she's  hurt." 

She  brushed  his  arm  aside,  only  to  discover  that  the 
overthrown  woman  had  regained  her  feet,  and  now  stood 
watching  her  partner  in  shrewish  fury  as,  grinning  fool- 
ishly, he  scrambled  up. 

"You  clumsy  dumb-bell!"  she  stormed  in  a  rasping 


100  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

voice  that  must  have  carried  clearly  half  across  the  room. 
"I  hope  to  Gawd  I  got  enough  sense  not  to  dance  with 
you  again  when  you're  pickled !" 

And  catching  her  first  glimpse  of  the  man's  crimson 
face,  Lucinda  yielded  all  at  once  to  Daubeney's  insistence. 

But  she  never  quite  knew  how  they  got  back  to  their 
table. 


XIII 

BUT  even  with  the  three  sides  of  the  box  affording 
their  false  show  of  privacy,  it  never  entered  Lu- 
cinda's  head  to  sit  down  and  pretend  nothing  had  hap- 
pened, the  instinct  to  fly  at  once  from  this  theatre  of  dis- 
grace was  still  predominant.  Only  for  a  moment  she 
rested  standing,  while  her  eyes,  darkly  dilate,  sought 
Daubeney's,  which  held  a  look  of  such  heart-broken  re- 
gret that  they  won  a  compassionate  smile  even  in  her  hour 
of  affliction,  and  somehow  helped  Lucinda  pull  together 
the  rent  and  draggled  garment  of  her  dignity. 

"At  least,"  she  said  quietly,  "Julie  Allingham  isn't  here 
— thank  Heaven  for  that!  You  saw  him,  of  course?" 

Dobbin  made  a  vague  gesture  of  sympathy :  "Fright- 
fully sorry  ..." 

Lucinda  shrugged.  "Don't  be.  It  wasn't  your  fault, 
it  was  I  who  insisted  on  coming  here." 

Her  gaze  veered  to  the  floor;  but  the  dancers  had  al- 
ready swarmed  over  and  abolished  the  break  in  their 
ranks,  and  though  she  looked  beyond  the  sea  of  bobbing 
heads,  to  right  and  left,  reviewing  all  she  could  see  of  the 
room,  Bellamy  was  nowhere  in  sight. 

"I  presume  we  couldn't  have  been  mistaken  ..." 
Dobbin  ventured  half-heartedly. 

"No:  it  was  Bel." 

"Hoped  we  might  have  been  misled  by  a  resemblance. 
Somehow  the  poor  devil  didn't  look  quite  like  Bellamy." 

"He's  apt  to  look  not  quite  like  himself  when  he  is — 
as  the  pretty  lady  with  him  so  delicately  put  it — 'pickled.'  " 

"Think  he  knew  you?" 

"Oh,  yes;  I  saw  him  look  directly  at  me  just  before 
101 


102  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

we  turned  away."  Lucinda  took  up  her  wrap.  "If  you'll 
help  me  with  this,  Dobbin,  I  think  I'd  like  to  go." 

"Afraid  I'll  have  to  ask  you  to  wait  a  minute  or  two. 
I've  got  these  to  pay  for  ..."  Daubeney  indicated 
the  untasted  glasses  of  lemonade  they  had  ordered.  "I've 
sent  for  our  waiter." 

"Then  if  you  don't  mind,  I'll  go  ahead.  Let  me  have 
the  carriage  check,  and  I'll  wait  in  the  car." 

Daubeney  surrendered  the  pasteboard  slip,  and  Lucinda 
went  out.  The  passageway  behind  the  boxes  enabled  her 
to  gain  the  entrance  without  running  the. gauntlet  of  the 
floor,  and  she  descended  the  stairs  with  her  head  slightly 
lowered,  in  panic  hope  that  she  might  thereby  escape  rec- 
ognition if  bad  luck  would  have  it  that  she  must  meet  Julie 
Allingham.  But  she  was  spared  that  misfortune. 

At  the  street  door  she  gave  the  attendant  the  carriage- 
check  together  with  a  coin.  "And  hurry,  please !"  The 
man  saluted  respectfully  and  vanished. 

She  waited  restlessly  just  inside  the  glass  doors  till 
the  reflection  that  every  second  was  making  an  encounter 
with  the  Allingham  woman  more  certain  drove  her  out  to 
the  street;  a  move  which  she  found  immediate  reason  to 
repent.  Only  a  few  feet  away  Bellamy  stood  with  an  af- 
fectionate arm  round  the  shoulder  of  the  door-porter, 
greatly  to  the  seeming  embarrassment  of  that  monumental 
personage  and  the  amusement  of  the  street.  A  knot  of 
grinning  bystanders  had  already  begun  to  gather. 

Bel's  derby  was  perilously  perched,  his  overcoat,  donned 
in  haste,  was  poorly  settled  on  his  shoulders,  though  he 
had  contrived  to  worry  two  buttons  through  the  wrong 
buttonholes,  and  he  was  explaining,  unconsciously  to 
everybody  within  a  wide  radius,  the  personal  service  he 
required  in  return  for  the  ten-dollar  bill  which  he  was 
waving  beneath  the  porter's  nose. 

"Now,  lishn,  Jim  .  .  .  Do'  mind  my  callin'  you  Jim, 
do  you,  ol'  scout?  .  .  .  Get  thish  straight:  M'wife's 
here  t'night  'nd  I  don'  want  her  know  I  wash  here, 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  103 

shee?  If  she  don'  know  I  wash  here,  she's  got  nothin'  on 
me,  nothin'  'tall,  shee?  So  you  don'  know  me,  you  never 
heard  of  me,  shee?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Druce." 

"  'Caush  it's  this  way :  if  she's  got  nothin'  on  me,  I'm 
all  right,  'nd  I  got  somethin'  on  her.  Believe  me,  Jim,  I 
got  good  'nd  plenty  on  her  t'night.  She's  here  with  man 
I  know  and  don'  like,  man  I  got  no  ush  for  at  all — shee  ? — 
no  ush  whatever.  Ain't  that  limit,  jush  like  woman?  In- 
sist you  gotta  walk  chalk-mark,  but  minute  your  back'sh 
turned,  what  they  do?  Go  off  on  private  lil  parties  all 
their  own,  that'sh  sort  of  thing  they  do  !  .  .  .  " 

Panting  and  sick  with  mortification,  Lucinda  turned 
from  the  sound  of  that  babbling  voice  of  a  fool — and 
heard  her  own  name  pronounced. 

"The  car  is  here,  Mrs.  Druce." 

In  a  wild  stare  she  identified  the  face  of  her  chauffeur, 
saw  that  he  understood  the  situation  and  was  anxious  to 
be  helpful. 

"Wait,"  she  quavered. 

And  then  by  a  miracle  of  will-power  she  managed  to 
master  her  nerves  and,  putting  aside  her  horror  and  hu- 
miliation, took  thought  quickly  and  clearly. 

"All  I  wan'  you  to  do  ish  remember,  if  Mishish  Druce 
asks  if  you've  seen  me,  you  never  heard  of  me,  don'  know 
me  'tall — shee,  Jim,  shee  what  I  mean  ?" 

As  Lucinda  drew  near  the  porter  niust  have  guessed 
who  she  was,  for  he  spoke  to  Bellamy  in  a  low  voice,  and 
the  latter  swung  round  with  startled  eyes  and  a  dropping 
jaw.  She  closed  her  fingers  on  his  wrist  and  put  all  her 
strength  into  their  grasp. 

"Come,  Bel,"  she  said  clearly  and  not  unkindly.  "Please 
don't  keep  me  waiting.  The  car  is  here,  we're  going 
home." 

For  a  moment  the  balance  wavered,  then  Bel's  eyes 
fell,  and  she  knew  she  had  won. 

"Oh,    a'right,"    he    mumbled    with    strange    docility. 


104  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

Didn'  know  you  were  waitin',  Linda.  Get  ri'  in  the  car — 
be  with  you  in  jush  a  minute." 

"No,"  she  said  firmly — "you're  coming  with  me  now." 

She  drew  him  away.  He  yielded  without  remonstrance, 
permitted  her  to  lead  him  to  the  door  of  the  car,  stumbled 
in  on  his  knees,  and  crawled  up  to  the  seat.  Lucinda  fol- 
lowed, the  door  closed  behind  her  with  a  clap  sweeter  than 
music  in  her  hearing,  and  with  purring  gears  the  car 
shot  out  of  range  of  those  leering  faces. 

Lucinda  had  forgotten  Dobbin  as  utterly  as  if  she  had 
never  known  him. 

Bellamy  lay  in  a  loose  slouch,  breathing  heavily.  The 
passing  lights  revealed  the  stupidity  of  his  congested 
features.  His  eyes  were  half-closed,  he  seemed  to  be 
asleep. 

Cringing  as  far  away  from  him  as  she  could,  Lucinda 
dug  nails  into  her  palms  to  keep  from  giving  over  body 
and  mind  to  the  dominion  of  hysteria.  She  saw  nothing 
of  the  streets  through  which  they  passed,  knew  no  thought 
other  than  to  preserve  her  self-control. 

When  at  length  the  car  stopped,  she  jumped  out  and, 
leaving  Bellamy  to  the  care  of  the  chauffeur  and  footman, 
ran  up  to  her  room.  The  maid  waiting  there  she  dis- 
missed for  the  night  in  half  a  dozen  words  whose  decision 
sent  the  woman  from  her  in  astonishment. 

Alone,  her  first  move  was  to  secure  the  door  communi- 
cating with  Bel's  rooms.  Then  she  threw  herself  upon 
the  bed  and  lay  listening  to  the  noise  on  the  stairway  of 
voices  and  stumbling  feet.  The  door  between  the  hall  and 
Bel's  rooms  banged.  She  heard  him  maundering  inco- 
herently to  his  valet  for  a  time,  a  long  time ;  the  valet 
seemed  to  be  trying  to  make  him  listen  to  reason  and 
failing  in  the  end.  The  neck  of  a  decanter  chattered 
against  the  rim  of  a  glass,  there  was  a  lull  in  the  murmur 
of  voices,  then  a  thick  cry  and  the  thud  of  a  fall.  After 
that  the  quiet  was  little  disturbed  by  the  valet's  labours 
with  the  body  of  the  drunkard.  Eventually  the  man  went 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  105 

out  and  closed  the  door.  In  the  subsequent  silence  the 
clock  downstairs  chimed  twelve. 

Lucinda  rose  then,  and  changed  to  her  simplest  street 
suit. 

For  half  an  hour  or  so  she  was  busy  at  desk  and  dress- 
ing-table, packing  a  checque  book  and  her  jewels  with 
other  belongings  in  a  small  hand-bag.  She  did  not  falter 
once  or  waste  a  single  move  through  indecision.  Indeed, 
it  did  not  once  occur  to  her  that  there  was  anything  to 
be  done  but  what  she  meant  to  do. 

Shortly  after  one  o'clock  she  left  Bel  snoring,  crept 
down  the  stairs  and  with  infinite  stealth  let  herself  out 
to  the  street. 

Nobody  saw  her  go,  neither  did  she  hesitate  as  she 
turned  her  back  upon  the  home  that  had  till  then  held 
for  her  every  precious  thing  in  life. 


XIV 

O  PURRED  by  irrational  fear  lest  Bellamy  wake  up, 
w3  discover  her  flight,  and  give  chase,  Lucinda  made  in 
haste  for  Fifth  avenue;  but  had  not  taken  half  a  dozen 
steps  when  a  cab  slid  up  to  the  curb  by  her  side,  its  driver 
with  two  fingers  to  his  cap  soliciting  a  fare.  He  seemed 
Heaven-sent.  Lucinda  breathed  the  first  address  that 
came  to  mind — "Grand  Central,  please" — hopped  in,  and 
shrank  fearfully  away  from  the  windows. 

On  second  thought,  the  destination  she  had  named 
seemed  a  sensible  choice.  Any  one  of  the  several  hotels 
which  tapped  the  railroad  terminal  by  subway  would  take 
her  in  for  the  night.  In  the  morning  she  would  be  better 
able  to  debate  her  next  step.  At  present  she  felt  hopelessly 
incapable  of  consecutive  thought. 

At  the  station  a  negro  porter  with  a  red  cap  opened  the 
cab  door  and  took  possession  of  her  single  piece  of  lug- 
gage, and  when  she  had  paid  off  the  taxi  and  looked  to 
him  in  indecision,  prompted  her  with:  "What  train  was 
yo'  wishin'  to  tek,  ma'm?" 

An  instant  later  Lucinda  was  wondering  why  she  had 
replied :  "The  first  train  for  Chicago,  please."  She  knew 
no  reason  why  she  should  have  named  Chicago  rather  than 
any  other  city  where  she  was  unknown  and  where,  con- 
sequently, she  might  count  on  being  free  to  think  things 
out  in  her  own  time  and  fashion. 

"Ain't  no  Chicago  train  befo'  eight-fo'ty-five  tomorrow 
tnawnin',  ma'm." 

"Very  well.    I'll  go  to  a  hotel  for  tonight.0 

"Yes'm.    W'ich  hotel,  Commodo',  Biltmo',  Belmont?" 

Lucinda  settled  on  the  Commodore,  because  it  was  the 
106 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  107 

largest  of  the  three  and  she  would  be  lost  in  the  multi- 
tude of  its  patrons. 

She  registered  as  Mrs.  L.  Druce,  Chicago,  and,  before 
proceeding  to  her  room,  arranged  to  have  the  head  porter 
purchase  her  ticket  and  reservation  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning. 

Some  hours  later  she  was  awakened  by  a  cramp  in  one 
of  her  arms  and  found  that  she  had  fallen  asleep  while 
sitting  on  the  edge  of  her  bed.  In  a  daze  she  finished  un- 
dressing, and  sleep  again  overwhelmed  her  like  a  dense, 
warm,  obliterating  cloud. 

It  seemed  but  a  minute  or  two  before  she  was  being 
scolded  awake  by  the  shrewish  tongue  of  the  telephone 
by  the  head  of  the  bed,  to  hear  a  dispassionate  voice  recite 
the  information  that  it  was  seven  o'clock,  the  hour  at 
which  she  had  asked  to  be  called. 

She  felt  as  if  she  had  not  slept  at  all. 

Again,  in  the  train,  the  aching  misery  of  heart  and  mind 
could  not  prevent  her  nodding  and  drowsing  all  morning 
long;  and  after  a  meal  of  railroad  food  by  way  of  lunch- 
eon, she  gave  up  trying  to  stave  off  the  needs  of  a  highly 
organized  nature  fatigued  by  inordinate  strains,  called 
the  porter,  had  him  make  up  the  lower  berth  in  her  draw- 
ing-room, and  went  to  bed. 

In  the  neighborhood  of  midnight  she  woke  up  to  dis- 
cover, first  by  peering  out  under  the  edge  of  the  window- 
shade  at  concrete  platforms  bleakly  blue  and  bare  in 
the  glare  of  unseen  lamps,  then  by  consulting  a  time- 
table, that  the  train  was  in  Cleveland. 

As  it  pulled  out  again,  she  resigned  herself  to  the  ines- 
capable. Rested,  her  mind  clear  and  active,  and  with  noth- 
ing to  do  but  think  for  eight  hours  more,  she  must  go 
down  into  the  hell  appointed. 

Nor  was  she  spared  any  portion  of  its  torments.  Suc- 
cessively and  in  concert,  vanity  wounded  to  the  quick, 
sickening  self-pity,  and  implacable,  grinding  regret  laid 
hold  on  her  heart  and  soul  and  worried  them  till  she  had  to 


108  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

bury  her  face  in  the  pillow  and  sink  her  teeth  into  it  to 
keep  from  screaming. 

It  was  cruel  enough  to  have  loved  and  lost,  but  to  have 
lost  and  still  to  love  seemed  punishment  intolerable.  The 
shameful  knowledge  that  body  and  spirit  still  hungered 
for  the  man  who  had  served  both  so  shabbily  ate  into  her 
amour-propre  like  a  corrosive  acid. 

To  her  agonized  imagination  she  figured  in  the  sem- 
blance of  a  leaf  harassed  by  that  high  wind  of  fatality 
which  latterly  had  swept  into  and  through  her  life  with 
Bel,  driving  them  asunder;  a  leaf  torn  from  the  homely 
branch  that  had  given  it  life  and  nurtured  it,  a  leaf  hunted 
helplessly  into  strange  ways  and  corners,  even  now  being 
hounded  on  and  on  ...  And  to  what  end?  .  .  . 

She  burned  with  resentment  of  her  persecution  by 
those  unknown  powers  whose  ill-will  she  had  not  wit- 
tingly done  anything  to  invite,  she  writhed  in  the  exas- 
peration bred  of  her  impotence  to  placate  them  or  with- 
stand their  oppression. 

A  lull  fell  at  last  in  the  transports  of  her  passion,  she 
lay  quite  still,  and  her  mind  too  grew  calm  in  aware- 
ness of  the  quiet,  resolute  mustering  of  all  her  forces  to 
wrest  from  malicious  chance  and  circumstance  the  right 
to  live  a  life  of  her  own  choosing ;  as  if  her  soul,  draw- 
ing strength  from  new-found  knowledge  of  its  indestruc- 
tible integrity,  lifted  up  its  head  and  with  calm  eyes  chal- 
lenged Fate. 

Her  paroxysms  were  now  spent  and  ended,  the  past  had 
been  put  definitely  behind  her,  it  was  with  the  future 
alone  that  she  had  need  to  be  concerned. 

She  addressed  herself  to  the  task  of  taking  stock  of 
Lucinda  Druce,  the  woman  all  alone,  her  condition  and 
resources,  and  of  trying  to  map  out  for  her  a  new  and  in- 
dependent existence  that  would  prove  somehow  livable. 

If  she  had  not  succeeded  in  this  undertaking  when  the 
train  breathed  its  last  weary  puffs  under  the  echoing  glass 
canopy  of  the  La  Salle  Street  station,  success  was  not 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  109 

forfeited,  it  was  but  deferred.  There  was  so  much  to  be 
taken  into  consideration,  she  could  not  yet  see  further 
than  tomorrow,  if  so  far.  Certain  immediate  steps  were 
indicated  to  her  intelligence  as  requisite  and  reasonable; 
whither  they  would  lead  she  could  by  no  means  guess. 

Bred  on  the  Atlantic  seaboard,  she  knew  more  of  Eu- 
rope than  of  the  United  States  west  of  the  Alleghenies. 
Chicago  to  her  was  a  city  that  once  had  burned  to  the 
ground  because  a  cow  kicked  over  a  lighted  lamp ;  a 
city  famous  for  great  winds,  something  known  as  "the 
Loop,"  something  hardly  less  problematic  called  "stock- 
yards." The  name  of  a  hotel,  too,  the  Blackstone,  had 
found  lodgment  in  her  memory. 

The  short  drive  in  a  yellow  taxicab  from  the  station 
to  the  hotel  through  a  labyrinth  of  back  streets  a-brawl 
with  traffic,  failed  to  register  any  impressions  other  than 
of  cobblestones,  blasphemous  truck  drivers,  street-cars 
pounding  and  clanging,  begrimed  buildings,  endless  col- 
umns of  self-absorbed  footfarers.  The  hotel  itself  seemed 
in  grateful  contrast,  it  might  have  been  one  of  her  own 
New  York.  Only  the  view  from  her  rooms,  many  stories 
above  the  street,  of  a  public  park  bleached,  frost-bitten, 
desolate,  and  slashed  by  a  black  railroad  cutting,  and  be- 
yond this  a  vast  expanse  of  tumbled  waters,  slate-grey 
flecked  with  white,  blending  with  a  grim  grey  sky,  drove 
home  the  fact  that  her  first  uncertain  gropings  toward  a 
new  life  were  to  be  framed  in  a  foreign,  and  to  her  per- 
ceptions an  unfriendly,  environment. 

But  she  turned  from  the  window  with  the  light  of  battle 
in  her  eyes.  Nature  was  wasting  its  effects,  she  was  not 
to  be  disheartened  by  an  ill-dispositioned  day. 

After  breakfast  she  went  out  to  do  a  little  necessary 
shopping,  and  spent  the  morning  and  most  of  her  cash  in 
hand  as  well  in  department  stores  which  she  was  unrea- 
sonably surprised  to  find  differed  not  materially  from  es- 
tablishments of  the  same  character  in  the  East,  save  in 


110  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

the  crowds  that  thronged  them,  drab  rivers  of  people 
persistently  strange  in  her  sight. 

But  the  experience  served  to  remind  her  that  she  had 
more  material  problems  to  solve  than  those  provided  by 
her  inner  life.  She  found  herself  running  short  of  ready 
money  and  with  a  checque-book  valueless  unless  she  were 
willing  to  prove  her  identity  as  the  wife  of  Bellamy  Druce. 

She  thought  of  telegraphing  old  Harford  Willis,  who 
had  been  her  father's  close  friend,  legal  adviser,  and  ex- 
ecutor of  his  estate,  as  he  was  today  steward  of  Lucinda's. 
But  he  could  not  be  expected  to  understand  a  peremptory 
demand  for  money  in  Lucinda's  name,  from  a  city  which 
he  had  no  reason  to  believe  she  had  ever  even  thought  of 
visiting,  without  explanations  too  lengthy  and  intimate 
for  transmission  by  telegraph.  The  alternative  was  to 
write  him,  and  that  meant  a  long,  full  letter,  for  (Lucinda 
suddenly  discovered)  Willis  was  the  one  man  in  the  world 
whom  she  could  safely  and  freely  confide  in,  consult  and 
trust. 

She  did  not  even  remember  Dobbin's  pretensions  to 
such  standing  with  her.  In  the  first  twenty-four  hours 
of  her  flight  from  Bellamy  she  had  not  thought  of  Dau- 
beney  once.  Now,  when  she  thought  of  him  at  all,  it  was 
as  of  some  revenant  of  kindly  countenance  from  a  half- 
forgotten  dream. 

She  spent  most  of  the  afternoon  composing  her  letter 
and  despatched  it  after  dinner,  a  rather  formidable  manu- 
script under  a  special  delivery  stamp. 

After  that  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  fold  her  hands 
and  commend  her  soul  to  patience. 

Three  eventless  days  dropped  out  of  her  history.  The 
dreary  weather  held,  there  was  rain  and  snow,  gales  like 
famished  banshees  pounded  and  yammered  at  the  hotel 
windows.  She  seldom  ventured  into  the  streets,  even  for 
exercise.  She  read  a  great  many  novels  purchased  at  the 
hotel  news-stand,  or  pretended  to,  for  her  mind  refused 
as  a  general  thing  to  travel  with  the  lines  of  print.  Her 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  Ill 

most  exciting  diversion  lay  in  reviewing  and  enlarging 
the  list  of  things  she  meant  to  buy  as  soon  as  she  was 
able.  And  one  afternoon  she  went  to  see  Alma  Daley  in 
her  latest  production  (not  "The  Girl  in  the  Dark,"  of 
course,  it  was  too  soon  for  that)  at  a  motion-picture  thea- 
tre near  the  hotel. 

She  came  away  confirmed  in  her  belief  that  Miss  Daley 
was  an  unusually  attractive  and  capable  young  mistress 
of  pantomime.  But  the  picture-play  itself  had  seemed 
frightfully  dull  stuff.  Indeed,  Lucinda  had  experienced 
considerable  difficulty  in  following  its  thread  of  plot,  and 
sat  it  out  only  because  of  her  personal  interest  in  the 
actress. 

Returning  to  her  rooms  possessed  by  memories  of  that 
afternoon  she  had  spent  at  the  studios  of  Gulp  Cinemas 
Inc.,  the  last  afternoon  of  her  life  as  Bellamy's  wife,  she 
wondered,  not  with  any  great  interest,  how  her  tests  had 
turned  out,  what  the  others,  Dobbin  and  Jean  and  Nelly, 
and  Fanny  Lontaine  and  her  husband,  had  thought  of 
them ;  whether  any  one  had  known  or  guessed  the  reason 
for  her  absence,  when  they  had  gathered  in  Gulp's  pro- 
jection-room for  the  showing;  whether  any  one  had 
cared. 

Dobbin  had  cared,  of  course.  At  least,  Dobbin  had  be- 
lieved he  cared.  So  had  Lucinda,  then  .  .  . 

How  long  ago  it  seemed ! 


XV 

TNEXPRESSIBLY  SHOCKED  ARRIVING  TO- 
_l  MORROW  WILL  CALL  ON  YOU  TEN  A  M 
MEANWHILE  BANK  OF  MICHIGAN  WILL  SUP- 
PLY YOU  WITH  FUNDS  IN  ANY  AMOUNT  YOU 
MAY  REQUIRE  IF  YOU  WILL  BE  PLEASED 
TO  IDENTIFY  YOURSELF  TO  MR.  SOUTHARD 
THERE. 

The  author  of  this  telegram,  which  was  delivered  on 
the  morning  of  Lucinda's  fifth  day  in  Chicago,  was  punc- 
tual to  the  minute  of  his  appointment;  otherwise  he 
would  hardly  have  been  the  rectilinear  gentleman  of  the 
frock-coat  school  that  he  was. 

Notwithstanding  that  Harf ord  Willis  was  pledged  to  a 
code  of  morals  and  manners  vinted  in  the  early  Eighteen- 
Eighties,  and  so  implacably  antagonistic  to  the  general 
trend  of  present-day  thought  on  the  divorce  question,  his 
great  affection  for  Lucinda  predisposed  him  to  allow  that 
the  course  she  had  taken  with  Bellamy  had  been  the  only 
one  his  conduct  had  left  open  to  her. 

On  the  other  hand  he  was  unhappily  unable  to  hide  the 
disconcertion  inspired  by  the  simple  gladness  of  her  greet- 
ing, the  spontaniety  of  which  was  in  such  marked  con- 
trast to  his  own  well-composed  demeanour  of  honorary 
pall-bearer  at  a  fashionable  funeral. 

"If  you  only  knew  how  good  it  is  to  see  a  friendly  face 
for  the  first  time  in  a  whole  week !" 

"But,  my  dear  Lucinda,"  Willis  intoned  deliberately  in 
his  well-modulated  voice  of  a  public  speaker,  "I  must  say 
you  seem  to  be  bearing  up  remarkably  well,  all  things 
considered,   re-mark-ably  well." 
112 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  113 

"I've  stopped  howling  and  drumming  the  floor  with 
my  heels,"  Lucinda  admitted — "if  that's  what  you  mean. 
When  I  found  it  didn't  do  any  good,  I  gave  it  up,  and  I've 
felt  more  cheerful  ever  since." 

"Cheerful !"  Willis  repeated  in  a  sepulchral  voice. 

"More  like  an  average  human  being  who's  been  horribly 
hurt  but  who  can't  see  why  life  should  be  counted  a  total 
loss  for  all  that;  less  like  the  wronged  wife  in  a  movie, 
mugging  at  a  camera." 

"But,  my  poor  child  !  how  you  must  have  suffered." 

"Let's  not  talk  about  that,  please,"  Lucinda  begged. 
"It  only  makes  me  vindictive  to  remember;  and  I  don't 
want  to  feel  that  way  about  Bel,  I  don't  want  to  be  un- 
just. It's  bad  enough  to  have  to  be  just." 

"Must  you?"  Willis  asked,  shaking  a  commiserative 
head. 

"Yes."  Lucinda  met  his  skeptical  old  eyes  with  eyes 
of  clear  candour.  "Absolutely,"  she  added  with  a  finality 
not  to  be  discredited. 

Willis  sighed  heavily,  released  her  hand,  sat  down,  and 
meticulously  adjusted  the  knees  of  striped  grey  trousers. 

"I  will  confess  I  had  hoped  to  find  you  of  another 
mind." 

"I'm  sorry.  Please  don't  think  me  hard  or  unfor- 
giving, but  .  .  .  I've  had  plenty  of  time  to  mull  things 
over,  you  know;  and  /  know  I  couldn't  consider  going 
back  to  Bel,  no  matter  what  he  might  be  ready  to  prom- 
ise. Bel  can't  keep  a  promise,  not  that  kind,  at  least." 

"I  feel  sure  you  wrong  him  there;  it's  true  I  don't 
know  your  husband  as  well  as  I  know  you,  my  dear,  but 
I  assure  you  that  amongst  men  he  has  the  reputation  of  a 
man  of  honour." 

"Man  of  honour  meaning,  I  presume,  one  who  won't 
cheat  another  man  but  will  cheat  a  woman." 

"Oh,  come !  that's  a  bit  sweeping." 

"The  men  who  know  Bel  know  how  he's  been  treating 
me — all  New  York  knows !  If  he  treated  them  as  treach- 


114  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

erously,  would  they  call  him  a  man  of  honour?"  Willis 
gave  a  vague  gesture  of  deprecation,  and  Lucinda  laughed 
a  little,  but  not  in  mirth.  "Women  are  at  least  more  hon- 
est among  themselves;  if  a  woman  knows  another  who 
isn't  playing  fair  with  her  husband,  she  either  keeps 
quiet  about  it  or  calls  her  a  cat,  and  lets  it  go  at  that — she 
doesn't  call  her  a  woman  of  honour." 

"You  don't  think  it  would  be  worth  while,"  Willis 
suggested  as  one  in  duty  bound,  "to  forgive  Bellamy,  give 
him  another  chance?" 

"I  don't  know  I've  got  anything  to  forgive  him,  Mr. 
Willis.  Bel  did  the  best  he  could.  And  that's  the  whole 
trouble.  Why  should  I  forgive  him  for  being  true  to 
himself?  It's  myself  I  can't  forgive,  because  I  was  silly 
enough  to  let  him  go  on  as  long  as  I  did,  making  me  a 
laughing-stock  .  .  .  Besides,  I'm  not  so  sure  it's 
good  for  us  to  be  forgiven  our  sins ;  we're  all  such  vain 
creatures,  we're  too  apt  to  take  forgiveness  as  a  license  to 
misbehave  still  more.  .  .  .  Don't  you  see?" 

"I  see  you  are  beginning  to  formulate  a  philosophy  of 
life." 

"Isn't  it  about  time?" 

"You  will  need  it,  my  dear,  if  you  mean  to  fight  this  out 
alone.  Philosophy  is  good  medicine  only  for  lonely- 
hearts.  The  others  it  merely  hardens." 

Lucinda  eyed  Willis  sharply.  "Bel  has  been  to  see 
you." 

"He  looked  me  up,"  Willis  admitted  in  mild  surprise, 
"two  days  after  your  disappearance,  thinking  you  might 
have  communicated  with  me.  Of  course,  I  could  tell  him 
nothing.  But  how  did  you  know ?" 

"That  suggestion,  the  underlying  thought  that  I  might 
not  be  intending  to  fight  out  my  fight  alone — that  orig- 
inated with  Bel,  didn't  it?" 

"Well !"  Willis  stammered,  trying  to  smile  disarmingly 
— "I  confess " 

"It  wasn't  enough,  of  course,  that  I  should  have  found 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  115 

Bel  out  for  the  dozenth  time,  there  had  to  be  a  lover  in 
my  background  to  account  for  my  leaving  him!  Did  he 
mention  any  name?" 

Willis  made  a  negative  sign.  "Bellamy  didn't  imply 
— he  merely  said  he  was  afraid " 

"It  doesn't  matter.    What  else  did  he  have  to  say?" 

"He  seemed  most  remorseful " 

"I  know  how  remorseful  Bel  can  seem." 

"And  determined " 

"In  what  way  ?" 

"To  find  you " 

"He'd  only  be  wasting  his  time." 

"He  spoke  of  employing  detectives  to  trace  you,  when  I 
assured  him  I  knew  nothing  of  your  whereabouts  and 
that  when — and  if — I  did  hear  from  you,  I  would  neces- 
sarily be  guided  by  your  wishes." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Lucinda.  "It  wouldn't  do  Bel  any 
good  to  see  me ;  it  would  only  irritate  him  to  find  I  could 
hold  out  against  a  plea  he  made  in  person." 

"I  understand,"  Willis  agreed ;  and  then  with  a  quizzical 
look :  "You  seem  to  know  your  own  mind,  young  woman ; 
so  I  shan't  attempt  to  advise  you.  But  would  you  mind 
telling  me  what  you  have  decided  to  do  ?" 

"I  shall  divorce  Bel,  of  course." 

"You  don't  think  it  might  be  advisable  to  wait  a  while  ? 
It  makes  me  very  sad  to  think  of  you  in  relation  to  di- 
vorce proceedings.  But  then,  of  course,  I  belong  to  a 
generation  that  viewed  divorce  in  a  different  light."  Lu- 
cinda was  silent.  "Ah,  well!"  Willis  sighed,  and  re- 
nounced hope  then  and  there — "if  you  must,  you  must,  I 
presume ;  and  I  will  do  my  best  to  serve  your  wishes,  my 
dear.  Only  tell  me  how  ..." 

"Why,  naturally,  I  want  to  get  it  over  with  as  quickly 
and  quietly  as  possible,  with  the  minimum  amount  of  pub- 
lic scandal." 

"Then  you  won't  sue  in  New  York  State." 

"Why  not?" 


116  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

"Its  laws  recognize  only  one  ground  for  absolute  di- 
vorce." 

"No,"  Lucinda  concluded  thoughtfully ;  "I'd  rather  not 
drag  others  into  the  case,  I'd  rather  get  my  freedom,  if 
I  can,  without  making  anybody  unhappy,  more  than  us 
two." 

"The  laws  of  the  State  of  Nevada  are  most  liberal. 
But  it  would  be  necessary  for  you  to  establish  a  legal  resi- 
dence by  living  in  Reno  for,  I  believe,  six  months." 

"I  suppose  that's  unavoidable." 

"I  will  look  up  the  most  reputable  firm  of  lawyers 
there,  and  recommend  you  to  them.  If  you  find  yourself 
in  need  of  other  advice,  write  or  telegraph  me  and  I  will 
come  out  to  confer  with  you." 

"I  hope  I  won't  have  to  impose  on  your  kindness  to 
that  extent." 

Willis  blinked,  removed  the  gold-rimmed  pince-nez  of 
his  fading  day,  and  polished  the  lenses  with  a  silk  hand- 
kerchief. 

"I  should  not  consider  it  an  imposition,  but  a  privi- 
lege, Lucinda.  I  can  think  of  nothing  I  wouldn't  do  for 
your  father's  daughter,  or  for  yours,  if  you  had  one." 

"Thank  God  I  haven't!" 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't  say  Amen  to  that.  But  then,  as  I 
have  already  remarked,  I  am  in  many  respects  a  survival, 
an  interesting  one,  I  trust,  but  a  survival  none  the  less, 
of  a  conservative-minded  generation." 

He  replaced  the  glasses. 

"Is  there  anything  else,  my  dear?  If  so,  we  can  take 
it  up  over  our  luncheon.  That  is  to  say,  I  am  hoping 
you  will  find  it  convenient  and  agreeable  to  lunch  with  me 
today." 

Bowing  punctilious  acknowledgment  of  Lucinda's  ac- 
ceptance, he  sat  back  and  joined  the  fingers  of  both  hands 
at  his  chin.  "And  now,"  he  pursued — "if  you  don't  mind 
satisfying  an  inquisitive  old  man — I  would  very  much  like 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  117 

to  know  what  you  propose  to  do  with  your  freedom,  when 
you  get  it." 

Lucinda  jumped  up  and  turned  away  with  a  quaver  of 
desolation. 

"Ah,  I  wish  you  hadn't  asked  me !  That's  what  I'm  try- 
ing all  the  time  to  forget " 

"I  thought  so." 

"The  emptiness  to  come !  .  .  .  What  can  a  woman 
do  to  round  out  her  life  when  she's  lost  her  husband  and 
is  fit  for  nothing  but  to  be  a  wife?" 

"She  can  find  another  husband.    Many  do." 

"Marry  again!"  A  violent  movement  of  Luanda's 
hands  abolished  the  thought.  "Never  that !  I'm  through 
with  love  for  good  and  all." 

"No  doubt."  agreed  the  student  of  law  and  life.  "But 
are  you  sure  that  love  is  through  with  you  ?" 


XVI 

WILLIS  left  for  New  York  on  a  late  afternoon  train ; 
and  when  Lucinda  had  said  good-bye  to  him  at 
the  station,  she  felt  as  if  she  had  parted  with  her  one  real 
friend  in  all  the  world. 

Nevertheless  it  had  done  her  good  to  see  and  talk 
with  him,  and  it  was  in  a  courageous  if  not  altogether  a 
cheerful  temper  that  she  bade  the  driver  of  her  taxi  stop 
at  the  Consolidated  Ticket  Office  on  the  way  back  to  the 
Blackstone. 

But  a  set-back  threatened  immediately  when  she  applied 
for  transportation  and  a  drawing-room  through  to  Reno. 
The  Winter  stampede  of  California  tourists  was  in  full 
westward  swing,  she  learned,  and  not  only  was  every 
drawing-room  and  compartment  sold  for  the  next  fort- 
night on  the  trains  of  the  Union  Pacific  system,  the  direct 
route  to  Reno,  but  she  would  have  to  wait  several  days 
even  if  she  were  willing  to  content  herself  with  an  upper 
berth. 

The  appalled  expression  with  which  she  contemplated 
this  alternative,  and  tried  to  make  up  her  mind  which 
would  be  worse,  to  nurse  her  loneliness  in  Chicago  for 
another  two  weeks,  or  condemn  herself  for  three  days 
to  the  promiscuous  indecency  of  open  sleeping-car  con- 
ditions, enlisted  the  sympathies  of  the  susceptible  if  none 
too  brilliant  clerk  who  had  dashed  her  hopes ;  and  promis- 
ing to  see  what  he  could  do,  he  busied  himself  mysterious- 
ly with  a  battery  of  telephones,  and  presently  returned  in 
a  glow  of  vicarious  delight,  to  announce  that  he  had  ar- 
ranged to  book  Lucinda  through  to  San  Francisco  via  the 
118 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  119 

Santa  Fe  system,  with  a  section  all  to  herself  on  the  Cali- 
fornia Limited  leaving  the  next  night. 

To  Luanda's  objection  that  she  didn't  want  to  go  to 
San  Francisco,  she  wanted  to  go  to  Reno,  he  explained, 
and  produced  bewildering  maps  and  time-tables  to  prove 
his  contention,  that  she  would  not  only  travel  in  more 
comfort  but  would  actually  save  time  by  going  out  imme- 
diately via  the  Santa  Fe  and  returning  eastward  from  San 
Francisco  to  Reno,  a  comparatively  insignificant  trip  of 
some  eleven  hours. 

To  clinch  the  matter  he  offered  to  telegraph  for  a  draw- 
ing-room reservation  to  Reno  on  the  first  train  to  leave  San 
Francisco  after  her  arrival.  And  Lucinda  feebly  hu- 
moured his  anxiety  to  be  of  service  to  a  pretty  lady. 

Perhaps  it  was  just  as  well,  after  all,  that  she  wouldn't 
be  able  to  shut  herself  up  on  the  train  and  mope  alone, 
perhaps  it  would  take  her  out  of  herself  a  bit  to  be  thrown 
into  indiscriminate  association  with  fellow-travellers. 

Among  the  first  purchases  she  had  made  after  calling  at 
the  Bank  of  Michigan  were  a  wardrobe  trunk  and  a  fitted 
dressing-case.  And  when  the  trunk  had  been  checked  and 
trundled  away  by  a  porter,  the  next  morning,  Lucinda 
had  a  long  afternoon  to  fill  in,  and  accomplished  this  by 
attending  a  matinee. 

Returning  to  the  hotel  about  five,  she  was  approaching 
the  elevators  when,  midway  in  the  foyer,  she  stopped  stock 
still,  even  her  heart  and  lungs  momentarily  refusing  their 
office,  transfixed  by  the  sight  of  Bellamy  standing  at  the 
registry  desk,  in  earnest  consultation  with  one  of  the 
clerks. 

Apparently  Bellamy  had  just  learned  what  he  wanted  to 
know;  Lucinda  recognized  the  backward  jerk  of  the  head 
that  was  an  unfailing  sign  of  gratification  in  him,  and  saw 
him  turn  away  from  the  desk.  Galvanized,  she  hurled 
herself  toward  one  of  the  elevator  shafts,  the  gate  to 
which  was  even  then  being  closed.  Luck  and  agility  en- 
abled her  to  slip  through  before  the  gate  clanged  and  the 


120  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

car  shot  upward — the  passengers  eyeing  Lucinda  in 
amusement  or  amazement  or  both,  the  operator  treating 
her  to  a  dark  overshoulder  scowl. 

But  she  didn't  care,  her  recklessness  had  purchased  her 
a  respite,  provisional  and  short-lived  though  it  might 
prove;  and  when  the  elevator  had  discharged  its  other 
passengers  on  floors  below  hers,  she  found  a  richly  com- 
pensating tip  for  the  attendant. 

"Sorry  if  I  frightened  you,"  she  apologized.  "There 
was  somebody  in  the  lobby  I  didn't  want  to  see  me,  and  I 
had  to  act  quickly." 

*'  'Sail  right,  ma'am,"  the  boy  grumbled,  pocketing  the 
money.  "Only  yeh  don'  wanta  count  on  gettin'  away 
with  that  sort  of  thing  often,  yeh  might  of  got  yehself 
killed." 

"I'll  be  more  careful,"  Lucinda  promised  humbly,  as  the 
car  stopped  to  let  her  off.  "And  will  you  do  something  for 
me,  please:  tell  the  management  I'd  like  my  bill  sent  up 
to  my  room  at  once,  and  that,  if  anybody  asks  for  me, 
I'm  not  in." 

"Sure  I  will,  ma'm." 

When  she  entered  her  room  the  telephone  was  calling. 
She  locked  the  door;  and  for  as  long  as  it  continued  to 
ring,  which  it  did  for  upwards  of  five  minutes  with  brief 
rests  in  discouragement,  Lucinda  did  not  move  or  cease  to 
regard  it  in  frightened  fascination,  as  if  it  were  a  thing 
of  malign  intelligence  which  all  her  wit  and  ingenuity 
would  hardly  serve  to  frustrate.  At  length  it  gave  it  up  as 
a  bad  job,  and  she  sank  limply  into  a  chair  near  the  door, 
and  there  remained  stirless,  trying  to  master  demoralized 
nerves,  trying  to  think,  till  a  knock  brought  her  to  her  feet 
in  a  flutter. 

She  had  trouble  finding  voice  enough  to  be  heard 
through  the  door:  "Who  is  it?" 

"Your  bill,  ma'm." 

Not  Bel's  voice.  Still  it  might  be  a  trick.  When  she 
forced  herself  to  turn  key  and  knob,  she  more  than  half 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  121 

expected  to  see  her  husband.  But  the  bellboy  was  alone. 
Lucinda  took  the  bill  and  was  counting  out  the  money, 
when  the  telephone  began  to  trill  again. 

"Take  those  bags,  please,"  she  said,  indicating  the  new- 
dressing-case  and  the  bag  which  she  had  brought  from 
New  York,  "put  them  in  a  taxi  at  the  door,  and  hold  it 
till  I  come  down.  I  shan't  be  long." 

Alone,  she  answered  the  telephone. 

"Hello?    That  you,  Linda?    It's  I,  Bel." 

"Y-yes,  I— I  know." 

"Thank  God,  I've  found  you !  See  here :  I'm  coming 
up,  if  you  don't  mind.  All  right  ?" 

"Yes,  Bellamy— it— it's  all  right." 

Running  out  into  the  hall,  she  found  the  stairs  and 
pelted  up  two  flights.  One  of  the  elevators  was  rising. 
It  stopped  two  floors  below,  then  came  on  up  in  response 
to  her  ring.  The  attendant  whom  she  had  tipped  so  well 
was  in  charge,  and  there  was  nobody  else  in  the  car. 

"Did  you  let  somebody  out  at  my  floor?" 

"Yes,  ma'm,  gempman." 

"Take  me  down,  please,  without  stopping." 

The  car  dropped  wJth  sickening  rapidity,  and  she 
stepped  out  into  the  foyer,  but  only  to  realize  in  conster- 
nation the  flat  futility  of  her  strategem  when  Bel  placed 
himself  before  her,  blocking  the  way  to  the  street. 

Her  heart  checked  and  raced,  she  was  oddly  at  once 
aghast  and  elated.  She  couldn't  be  sorry  her  ruse  had 
failed,  subconsciously  she  had  wanted  all  along  to  see  Bel, 
just  for  a  minute,  face  to  face,  with  her  own  eyes  to  see 
how  he  looked,  how  her  flight  had  affected  him,  whether 
ill  or  well. 

Though  he  seemed  to  be  quite  himself,  neither  under 
the  influence  of  nor  suffering  from  recent  indulgence  in 
drink,  his  face  looked  thinner,  his  eyes  a  trifle  more  deeply 
set  in  his  head;  and  there  was  new  firmness  in  the  set 
of  his  mouth. 


122  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

In  this  new  guise,  the  old  appeal  was  strong.  For  a 
space  of  several  beats  her  heart  misgave  her  .  .  . 

In  a  matter-of-course  way  Bel  offered  a  hand,  and  Lu- 
cinda  touched  it  mechanically. 

"Sorry,  Linda,  if  I  disappointed  you,  but  thought  I 
recognized  your  hand-bag  being  carried  to  the  door,  and 
waited  for  this  car  to  come  down  on  the  off-chance  ..." 

"I  see,"  she  articulated  with  an  effort. 

"Hope  you're  not  angry  ..."  Bel  smiled  as  if  he 
read  her  weakness,  smiled  with  a  fatal  trace  of  over-con- 
fidence. "Had  to  see  you,  couldn't  let  you  get  away  with- 
out giving  me  a  hearing,  after  all  the  trouble  I've  had  find- 
ing you." 

"It's  too  late,  I'm  afraid — this  isn't  the  place,  either,  to 
discuss  such  matters.  Besides,  I'm  in  a  great  hurry." 

"You  can  give  me  a  few  minutes,  surely.  If  you'll 
step  into  the  reception-room  with  me  for  a  minute " 

"Bel :  I  tell  you  it's  too  late." 

Struggling  to  keep  his  temper,  Bel  caught  his  underlip 
between  his  teeth,  while  Lucinda  cast  witlessly  about  her 
for  some  way  of  escape.  None  offered.  But  she  noticed 
that  a  young  man  standing  nearby  was  observing  them 
with  keen  interest,  a  rather  brilliantly  good-looking  young 
man,  brilliantly  well  dressed.  As  Lucinda's  glance  rested 
transiently  on  him,  his  face  brightened  with  a  tentative 
smile,  and  she  thought  he  started  as  if  he  were  impulsively 
minded  to  approach.  If  so,  he  reconsidered  instantly. 
With  a  frown  she  looked  back  to  Bel. 

He  made  a  gesture  of  entreaty.  "You  can't  put  me 
off  like  this,  Linda,  when  I've  come  so  far,  gone  through 
so  much " 

"I  can  because  I  must,  Bel — I  will." 

"No,  by  God !  you  can't  and  shan't !" 

He  caught  her  arm  lightly  as  she  tried  to  pass.  She 
stopped,  her  face  hardening. 

"Are  you  going  to  make  another  scene,  publicly  disgrace 
me  again  even  when  sober  ?" 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  123 

His  hand  dropped  to  his  side.  Lucinda  began  to  walk 
rapidly  toward  the  street  entrance,  but  had  taken  few 
steps  when  Bellamy  ranged  alongside. 

"Linda :  you've  got  to  listen  to  me !  There's  something 
I've  got  to  tell  you " 

"Then  go  back  to  New  York  and  tell  it  to  Harford 
Willis.  If  it's  anything  I  want  to  hear,  he  will  write  me." 

"Harford  Willis!  What's  he—!"  The  significance  of 
her  words  seemed  to  come  to  Bel  all  at  once.  "You  don't 
mean  to  say  you're  going — !  You  can't  be  meaning  to — !" 
With  a  long  stride  Bel  swung  in  front  of  her  again  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs  to  the  street.  "At  least,  tell  me  what 
you  mean  to  do." 

"I  mean  to  go  to  Reno,  as  soon  as  you  let  me  pass." 

Bellamy's  eyes  narrowed  as  if  in  physical  pain.  He 
threw  out  a  hand  of  inarticulate  protest,  and  let  it  fall  in 
despair.  Subduing  a  strong  desire  to  bolt  for  it,  Lucinda 
began  to  descend  at  a  pace  not  inconsistent  with  dignity. 
At  the  same  time,  sensitiveness  to  the  situation,  the  feeling 
that  they  had  been  playing  a  scene  of  intimate  domestic 
drama  for  the  edification  of  an  entire  hotel,  made  her 
aware  that  the  young  man  whose  interest  had  first  mani- 
fested near  the  elevators  had  followed  and  was  now 
standing  at  the  head  of  the  steps,  over  across  from 
Bellamy. 

Pushing  through  the  door,  she  breathed  thankfully  the 
stinging  winter  air.  The  canopy  lamps  made  the  sidewalk 
bright  and  discovered  her  bellboy  shivering  by  the  open 
door  of  a  taxicab.  As  she  moved  toward  it  she  heard  the 
revolving  door  behind  her  buffet  the  air,  then  Bel's  voice 
crying  out  her  name. 

Abandoning  all  pretense,  Lucinda  ran.  The  bellboy 
caught  her  arm  to  help  her  into  the  cab  and  chattered: 
"W-where  t-t-to,  m'm  ?"  She  was  prevented  from  answer- 
ing by  Bel,  who  elbowed  the  boy  aside  and  caught  her  by 
the  shoulders. 


124  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

"No!"  he  cried  violently.  "No,  you  shan't— d'you 
hear? — you  shan't  go  without  listening  to  me!" 

By  some  means,  she  did  not  know  quite  how,  Lucinda 
broke  out  of  his  hands  and  stepped  back. 

"Let  me  alone !"  she  insisted.    "Let  me " 

Somebody  came  between  them.  Startled,  she  identified 
the  strange  young  man  of  the  foyer. 

"Can  I  be  of  service?"  he  suggested  in  an  amused 
drawl. 

Instinctively  she  gasped :  "No,  please — !"  At  the  same 
time  Bel  tried  to  shoulder  the  other  roughly  out  of  his 
way;  the  gratuitous  champion  stood  firm,  merely  coun- 
selling "Easy,  old  thing,  easy !"  Then  Bel  lost  his  head. 
Lucinda  heard  him  damning  the  other.  There  was  a 
slight  scuffle,  in  which  the  two,  locked  in  each  other's 
arms,  reeled  to  one  side.  The  bellboy  was  shouting  "Now, 
ma'm — now's  your  chance!"  She  stumbled  into  the 
taxi.  Holding  the  door,  the  boy  demanded :  "Where  to, 
ma'm — where  to  ?"  She  gasped :  "Anywhere — only,  tell 
him,  hurry!"  The  door  crashed,  gears  meshed  with  a 
grinding  screech,  the  cab  leaped  forward  with  such  spirit 
that  Lucinda  was  thrown  heavily  against  the  back  of  the 
seat. 

When  she  recovered,  the  vehicle  was  turning  a  corner. 
Through  its  window  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  sidewalk 
in  front  of  the  Blackstone,  just  a  bare  glimpse  of  two 
figures  struggling,  with  several  others  running  toward 
them.  Then  the  corner  blocked  out  the  scene. 


XVII 

DARTING  and  dodging  through  traffic-choked  thor- 
oughfares, the  taxicab  had  travelled  a  mile  and 
more  before  Lucinda  felt  able  to  give  the  next  steps  the 
careful  consideration  which  this  pinch  of  mischance  im- 
posed. 

In  the  upshot,  though  street  clocks  advised  that  she  had 
the  best  part  of  two  hours  to  kill  before  she  could  board 
her  train,  she  tapped  on  the  window  and  directed  her 
driver  to  proceed  to  the  Santa  Fe  Station.  She  felt  rea- 
sonably safe  in  assuming  that  Bel  wouldn't  look  for  her 
there.  Since  she  had  told  him  she  was  going  to  Reno,  his 
natural  inference  would  be  that  she  meant  to  travel  by  the 
direct  overland  route,  he  would  set  himself  to  waylay  her 
in  the  Union  Pacific  terminal  if  anywhere.  Provided,  of 
course,  that  he  had  succeeded  in  discouraging  the  atten- 
tions of  the  gallant  busybody  in  fit  shape  to  make  himself 
a  nuisance  again  that  night. 

She  couldn't  help  giggling  nervously  over  the  picture 
painted  by  a  superexcited  imagination. 

The  remaining  hours  of  the  evening  worked  out  as 
eventlessly  as  she  had  hoped.  Bellamy  didn't  show  up 
at  the  station,  she  dined  after  a  fashion  in  its  restaurant, 
with  her  nose  in  a  newspaper  none  of  whose  intelligence 
meant  anything  to  hers,  as  soon  as  the  platform  gates  were 
opened  she  was  conducted  by  a  porter  to  her  reservation 
in  the  last  car  of  the  train  but  one,  the  observation-car; 
and  in  the  latter  Lucinda  waited  till  her  berth  had  been 
made  ready.  Then  she  went  to  bed. 

She  had  planned  to  read  herself  asleep,  but  the  armful 
of  books  and  magazines  purchased  at  the  station  bookstall 
125 


126  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

either  purveyed  only  fiction  of  a  peculiarly  insipid  sort 
or  else  life  itself  was  just  then  too  richly  coloured,  too 
swift  of  movement  to  admit  of  that  self-surrender  which 
is  requisite  if  mere  artistic  effort  is  to  take  effect. 

And  then  the  thoughtful  porter  had  fastened  a  folded 
sheet  across  the  double  windows  to  temper  the  penetrat- 
ing breath  of  that  bitter  night.  So  it  wasn't  possible  to  di- 
vert oneself  by  watching  the  snow-clad  land  unroll  its 
blurred  vistas  of  blue  nocturnal  beauty. 

One  could  do  nothing,  indeed,  but  try  vainly  not  to 
think,  watch  the  curtains  swaying  that  shut  out  the  aisle, 
listen  to  the  tireless  thrumming  of  the  trucks  and  the  mel- 
ancholy hooting  with  which  the  engine  saluted  every 
crossroad,  and  pray  for  sleep. 

Somewhere  a  peevish  child  wailed  fitfully  for  hours  on 
end,  somewhere  else  a  man  snored  as  if  strangling  in  his 
sleep.  Till  long  after  midnight  noisy  feet  straggled  in- 
termittently to  and  from  the  observation  car.  And  once 
Lucinda,  at  last  on  the  verge  of  drifting  off,  started  sud- 
denly wide-awake,  stabbed  to  the  heart  by  tardy  apprecia- 
tion of  the  fact  that,  now  Bel  knew  where  she  was  bound, 
she  could  not  be  sure  of  finding  even  Reno  a  refuge  from 
his  persistence,  his  importunities. 

For  the  matter  of  that,  if  Bel,  or  the  detectives  whom 
he  had  told  Willis  he  might  employ,  had  been  cunning 
enough  to  trace  her  to  Chicago,  they  would  find  her  no 
matter  where  else  she  might  seek  to  hide  herself  away. 

Only  perhaps  by  changing  her  name     .     .     . 

But  how  could  she  sue  for  divorce  if  she  lived  under 
an  assumed  name? 

Toward  morning  she  drifted  into  an  uneasy  form  of 
semi-slumber,  and  from  this  into  deep  sleep.  It  was  late 
when  she  was  awakened  by  the  bustle  of  people  fighting 
with  their  garments  and  breaking  the  trails  to  the  wash- 
rooms, and  in  the  aisle  a  negro  voice  intoning  musically : 
"Las'  call  fo'  brekfus  in  the  dinin'-cyar"— over  and  over. 

To  find  the  dining-car  Lucinda  had  to  make  her  way 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  127 

through  so  many  sleeping-cars  that  she  lost  count,  cars  all 
alike  as  to  aisles  obstructed  by  people  dressing,  people 
passing  to  and  fro,  porters  dismantling  tumbled  berths. 
By  way  of  some  slight  compensation,  she  was  alloted 
a  small  table  with  places  for  two,  the  other  chair  being 
untenanted,  which  she  considered  much  preferable  to  the 
tables  for  four  across  the  aisle.  Then,  too,  the  napery 
was  spotless,  the  silverware  lustrous,  flowers  were  brave 
in  a  vase  at  her  elbow,  the  waiter  was  civil  and  seemed 
eager  to  please. 

Lucinda  scribbled  her  order  on  the  blank  form  pro- 
vided, then  rested  her  cheek  on  a  hand  and  gazed  moodily 
out  at  wheeling  perspectives  of  a  countryside  blanketed 
with  snow.  Reminding  herself  that  the  train  was  due  in 
Kansas  City  during  the  morning,  she  seriously  thought  of 
leaving  it  there  and  waiting  over  till  accommodations  could 
be  had  that  would  insure  privacy  for  the  remainder  of 
the  journey,  even  though  this  might  involve  weeks  of 
delay. 

Grape-fruit,  coffee,  and  toast,  all  excellent,  made  her 
feel  a  bit  better.  Nevertheless  she  made  up  her  mind  to 
ask  the  conductor  to  arrange  a  stop-over  for  her  at  Kansas 
City. 

As  she  was  pouring  herself  a  second  cup  of  coffee,  the 
vacant  chair  at  her  table  was  drawn  out  and  an  amiable, 
amused  voice  asked:  "Do  you  mind  my  sitting  here, 
Mrs.  Druce  ?" 

Lucinda  jumped  in  consternation.  The  speaker  bowed 
with  an  ingratiating  smile :  her  unsought  champion  of  the 
night  before !  .  .  . 

She  recollected  herself  and  gave  a  jerky  inclination  of 
her  head ;  but  all  she  could  find  to  say  was  "Oh !"  Where- 
upon the  young  man  laughed  quietly  and,  construing  her 
consent,  sat  down. 

"I'm  surprised,  too,"  he  confessed — "pleasantly,  if  you 
don't  mind  my  saying  so.  And  yet  the  dear  public  con- 
tinually kicks  about  coincidences !" 


128  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

Lucinda  found  her  tongue  but  found  it  incompetent 
to  frame  any  but  formal  phrases:  "I  have  a  great  deal 
to  thank  you  for " 

"Please  don't  think  of  it  that  way.  To  the  contrary,  I 
owe  you  all  sorts  of  apologies " 

"Apologies !" 

"For  butting  in  where  any  rational  angel  would  have 
been  scared  to  death  to  tread,  and  particularly  for  being 
here — though  that  was  my  fault  and  this  isn't.  But  I'm 
glad  you're  not  angry  with  me — "  The  waiter  thrust  an 
order  blank  with  the  bill  of  fare  under  the  young  man's 
nose,  and  he  concluded  to  give  them  attention  with  an 
easy:  "If  you'll  excuse  me  ..." 

The  head  he  bowed  over  the  cards  was  well-modelled 
and  thatched  with  a  good  quantity  of  hair,  light  brown 
in  colour  and  amazingly  lustrous.  A  skin  whose  patina 
of  faint  tan  resembled  that  of  old  ivory,  with  never  a 
blemish,  covered  boldly  fashioned  features.  The  mobile 
face  had  a  trick  of  lighting  up  when  its  owner  was  talking 
as  if  aglow  with  the  light  of  his  thought,  so  that  his  look 
was  in  fact  more  eloquent  than  his  speech.  Lucinda 
thought  she  had  never  seen  hands  more  strong  and  grace- 
ful, or  any  better  cared  for,  not  even  Bel's.  Nor  had  Bel 
ever  dressed  in  better  taste. 

The  object  of  her  interest  waved  the  waiter  away  and 
met  her  openly  interested  regard  without  loss  of  counte- 
nance. 

"I  guess  it's  time  I  introduced  myself,  Mrs.  Druce.  My 
name  is  Summerlad."  After  a  slight  pause  and  with  a 
hint  of  self-consciousness,  he  amplified :  "Lynn  Summer- 
lad." 

Sensible  that  he  seemed  to  expect  her  to  think  well  of 
that  precious  name,  Lucinda  found  no  echo  for  .it  in  the 
chambers  of  her  memory.  She  bowed  and  said  "Thank 
you,"  and  all  at  once  discovered  that  she  had  reason  to  be 
mystified. 

"But  how  is  it  you  know  my  name,  Mr.  Summerlad?" 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  129 

"That's  easy :  your  husband  told  me." 

Again  Lucinda  was  reduced  to  a  blank  "Oh!"  This 
time  she  felt  that  she  was  colouring. 

"In  the  police  station,"  Mr.  Summerlad  added  with  a 
broad  grin.  "But  don't  be  alarmed,  we  weren't  either  of 
us  mussed  up  much.  Only,  you  see,  Mr.  Druce  rather  lost 
his  head — can't  say  I  blame  him — and  when  the  innocent 
bystanders  insisted  on  separating  us,  and  a  cop  happened 
along  and  took  a  hand,  he  wouldn't  be  happy  till  he'd  had 
me  arrested  on  a  charge  of  assault.  So  the  officer  marched 
us  both  off  to  the  nearest  station-house,  with  half  Chicago 
tagging  at  our  heels.  By  the  time  we  got  there  your  hus- 
band had  cooled  down  and  remembered  that  publicity 
wasn't  his  best  bet.  So  he  withdrew  the  charge." 

"How  dreadful !"  Lucinda  murmured,  her  thoughts 
with  Bellamy.  "I'm  so  sorry." 

"No  reason  to  be.  If  you  must  know,  I  enjoyed  the 
adventure  tremendously.  That's  what  one  gets  for  having 
been  born  with  a  perverted  sense  of  humour." 

"But  if  you  had  been  locked  up !" 

"Oh,  it  wouldn't  have  been  for  long,  I'd  have  got  some- 
body to  bail  me  out  inside  of  fifteen  minutes.  But  there 
wasn't  ever  any  danger  of  that,  really.  You  see,  the  ser- 
geant knew  me  at  sight  and — well,  the  sentiment  of  all 
hands  seemed  to  be  with  me.  Besides,  it  wasn't  as  if  I'd 
never  been  pinched  before." 

"You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  you're  in  the  habit  of — of — " 

"Of  mixing  in  every  time  I  run  across  a  matrimonial 
rukus?  Hardly!  I  mean,  pinched  for  speeding.  You 
know  what  the  roads  are,  out  on  the  Coast,  hard  and 
smooth  and  straight  as  a  string  for  miles  at  a  time.  You 
can  hardly  resist  them,  once  you  get  beyond  the  city 
limits.  Guess  I'll  have  to  after  this,  though.  The  last 
time  they  got  me,  the  judge  gave  me  his  word  I  wouldn't 
get  off  again  with  a  fine,  the  next  offense  would  mean 
the  hoosegow  for  mine.  And  between  you  and  me,  I 


130  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

haven't  any  hankering  to  see  the  inside  of  the  Los  Angeles 
County  jail." 

"I  should  hope  not." 

Lucinda  caught  the  eye  of  her  waiter  and  gave  him  a 
bill  to  pay  for  her  breakfast.  But  she  couldn't  escape  with 
good  grace  just  yet,  unless  she  wished  to  administer  a 
downright  snub  she  would  have  to  wait  for  her  change. 

"I'd  like  to  show  you  what  motoring  is  around  Los  An- 
geles," Mr.  Summerlad  pursued  with  breath-taking  as- 
surance. "If  it  isn't  an  impertinent  question,  may  I  ask 
if  that's  where  you're  bound?" 

"No,"  Lucinda  replied  briefly.  One  began  to  foresee 
that  to  put  a  damper  on  such  abounding  enterprise  would 
prove  far  from  easy. 

"I  see :  taking  in  the  Grand  Canyon,  I  suppose.  You'll 
find  it  well  worth  your  while.  Gorgeous  scenery  and 
everything.  I've  done  the  Canyon  a  dozen  times,  used  to 
run  up  there  whenever  I  got  a  week  to  myself,  you  know. 
If  it  wasn't  for  this  wretched  business  I'm  in" — again 
that  suspicion  of  self-consciousness — "I'd  drop  off  there 
for  a  few  days  this  trip.  But  I'm  afraid  it's  no  go.  Too 
busy.  Beastly  nuisance.  Still,  there's  nothing  more  un- 
certain than  a  job  like  mine.  So  it's  well  to  make  pay 
while  the  sun  shines." 

"I'm  sure  ..."  said  Lucinda,  gathering  up  her 
change.  And  Summerlad's  face  fell  touchingly  as  he 
grasped  the  fact  that  she  was  really  going  to  leave  him 
to  finish  his  breakfast  alone.  "I  am  deeply  indebted  to 
you,"  she  pursued.  "No,  please  don't  tell  me  again  I  must 
forget  it,  because  I  can't  and  don't  want  to.  I  was  at  my 
wits'  ends  last  night.  But,  of  course,  it  isn't  a  thing  one 
can  talk  about " 

"Well,  there  are  lots  of  other  things  we  can  talk  about," 
Summerlad  rejoined  cheerily.  "So  let's  forget  the  un- 
pleasant ones.  That  is — hope  you  don't  think  I'm  imper- 
tinent— but  it's  a  long,  lonesome  trip,  and  I'll  be  very 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  131 

happy  if  you'll  let  me  prattle  in  your  company  now  and 
then." 

Since  she  was  leaving  the  train  at  Kansas  City  there  was 
nothing  to  be  gained  by  being  rude.  Lucinda  contented 
herself  with  replying,  no,  she  wouldn't  mind,  and  thrust 
back  her  chair.  Immediately  Summerlad  was  on  his  feet, 
napkin  in  hand,  bowing  prettily. 

"Awfully  good  of  you,  Mrs.  Druce.  Where  shall  I 
find  you,  say  in  an  hour  or  two?  The  observation  car?" 

"Perhaps,"  Lucinda  smiled. 

"Or  would  you  rather  I  looked  you  up ?" 

"I'm  in  the  last  car  but  one,"  Lucinda  told  him  sweetly 
—"Section  Ten." 

She  made  her  way  back  to  that  reservation  determined 
to  lose  no  time  about  interviewing  the  conductor.  But 
the  porter  failed  to  answer  repeated  pressures  on  the  call- 
button,  and  at  length  surmising  the  truth,  that  he  was  get- 
ting his  own  breakfast,  Lucinda  resigned  herself  to  wait. 
There  was  plenty  of  time  .  .  . 

Now  that  she  was  extricated  from  it  the  comic  element 
in  her  late  rencontre  began  to  make  irresistible  appeal. 
She  picked  up  a  book,  opened  it,  bent  her  head  low  above 
it  to  hide  smiling  lips  and  dancing  eyes  from  people  pass- 
ing in  the  aisle ;  but  was  not  well  settled  in  this  pose  when 
she  heard  a  joyful  cry — "Cindy!  Cindy  Druce!" — and 
rose,  dropping  the  book  in  her  astonishment,  to  be  en- 
folded in  the  arms  of  Fanny  Lontaine. 


XVIII 

"T      FEEL,"  Lucinda    confessed,    "precisely    like    a 

A  weathervane  in  a  whirlwind,  I  mean  the  way  it 
ought  to :  every  few  minutes  I  find  my  nose  pointing  in  a 
new  direction." 

"You  dear!"  Seated  opposite  her  at  the  windows  of 
the  Lontaine  drawing-room,  Fanny  leaned  over  and 
squeezed  her  hand  affectionately.  "I  can't  tell  you  how 
happy  I  am  that  pretty  nose  is  pointing  now  the  same  way 
as  ours." 

"And  I,  Fanny.  It's  really  a  wonderful  sensation,  you 
know,  after  all  that  worry  and  uncertainty,  to  know  one's 
life  is  mapped  ahead  for  a  few  days  at  least.  I  don't 
believe  any  lost  puppy  ever  felt  more  friendless  than  I  did 
just  before  we  met,  when  I  thought  I  was  going  to  get 
off  at  Kansas  City.  And  my  present  frame  of  mind  is  that 
same  puppy's  when  it  finds  itself  all  at  once  adopted  by  a 
family  that  likes  animals." 

Kansas  City  was  already  the  idle  menace  of  a  dimming 
dream.  Awkward  but  unavoidable  explanations,  haltingly 
offered,  had  been  accepted  without  question :  a  manifesta- 
tion of  tactful  sympathy  which  had  not  only  won  Lu- 
cinda's  heart  completely  but,  working  together  with  her 
reluctance  to  proceed  to  Reno  before  she  could  feel  rea- 
sonably sure  of  being  suffered  to  live  there  unmolested, 
had  influenced  her  to  agree  to  go  on  with  the  Lontaines 
to  Los  Angeles;  whither  (she  was  tacitly  led  to  infer)  his 
motion-picture  interests  had  peremptorily  called  Lontaine. 

It  seemed  a  sensible  move  as  well  as  one  most  agree- 
able in  prospect.  She  could  rest  in  comfort  and  friendly 
companionship  for  a  few  weeks,  consult  with  Harford 
132 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  133 

Willis  by  letter,  at  leisure  and  with  a  calm  mind  plan  for 
the  future.  She  now  saw,  as  if  new  light  had  somehow 
been  cast  upon  her  problems  by  this  meeting  of  happy 
chance,  that  there  was  really  no  hurry,  no  reason  why  she 
shouldn't  take  her  time  about  the  unpleasant  business,  at- 
tend to  its  transaction  only  when  and  as  it  suited  her  will 
and  convenience.  It  wasn't  as  if  she  wanted  to  remarry, 
or  was  in  any  way  dependent  upon  Bel  and  must  beg  the 
courts  to  make  him  provide  for  her.  If  anything,  her  per- 
sonal resources  exceeded  Bellamy's. 

And  then  it  would  be  amusing  to  see  Los  Angeles  under 
the  wing  of  so  well-informed  a  motion-picture  impresario 
as  Lontaine.  That  afternon  at  the 'Gulp  studios  had  been 
fascinating ;  how  much  more  so  would  it  be  to  live  for  a 
time  in  a  city  that  was,  at  least  as  Lontaine  limned  it,  one 
vast  open-air  studio,  to  be  associated  with  people  who 
were  actually  doing  something  with  their  lives.  What  a 
change  from  the  life  that  had  grown  to  seem  tedious  and 
unprofitable  even  before  Bellamy  had  made  its  contin- 
uance intolerable! 

"But  you  haven't  told  me,"  she  complained,  "about  those 
tests.  Did  you  go  to  see  them  that  day  ?  How  did  they 
come  out  ?  How  did  I  look  ?" 

"Oh,  Cindy!  what  a  shame  you  missed  it.  You  were 
adorable,  everybody  simply  raved  about  you." 

"Fact,  Mrs.  Druce.  You  outclassed  even  Alma  Daley 
in  that  Palm  Room  scene.  No,  but  seriously :  it  was  you 
first,  Miss  Daley  second,  Fanny  a  good  third,  the  rest 
nowhere.  You  missed  scoring  no  end  of  a  personal 
triumph  in  the  projection-room.  Though,  if  you  ask  me, 
Miss  Daley  was  just  as  well  pleased." 

"You're  making  fun  of  me." 

"Absolutely  not." 

"Well,  it's  hard  to  believe,  but  if  you  mean  it,  the  Gulps 
and  their  cameraman  would  seem  to  have  been  right." 

"Oh,  I'd  almost  forgotten!"  Fanny  cried.  "Mr.  Gulp 
was  terribly  put  out  because  you  weren't  there,  and  made 


134  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

me  promise  faithfully  to  ask  you  to  call  him  up  and  make 
an  appointment  for  another  private  showing." 

"Right  about  what?"  Lontaine  earnestly  wanted  to 
know. 

"Why,  they  were  so  sure  I  would  screen  well,  as  they 
put  it,  Mr.  Gulp  made  me  an  offer,  as  we  were  leaving,  to 
act  with  his  wife  in  her  next  picture." 

Lontaine's  eyes  widened  into  a  luminous  blue  stare; 
and  abruptly,  as  if  to  hide  the  thought  behind'  them,  he 
threw  away  a  half-smoked  cigarette  and,  helping  himself 
to  another,  bent  forward,  tapping  it  on  a  thumb-nail. 

"Really,  dearest  ?  How  priceless !  And  what  did  you 
say  to  the  creature  ?" 

"Oh,  I  was  kind  but  firm." 

"Ben  Gulp's  a  big  man  in  the  cinema  game,"  Lontaine 
commented  without  looking  up.  "His  advice  is  worth 
something,  Mrs.  Druce.  If  he  says  you'd  make  a  hit,  you 
might  do  worse  than  listen  to  him.  That  is,  of  course,  if 
you  should  ever  think  of  taking  a  flyer  in  the  motion-pic- 
ture business." 

"I'm  not  even  dreaming  of  such  a  thing.  Why,  it's 
absurd !" 

"I'll  wager  you  wouldn't  say  so  if  you  once  saw  your- 
self on  the  screen.  Only  wish  I  had  a  print  of  those 
tests  to  show  you." 

"I'm  not  curious." 

"Then  you're  the  modern  miracle,  Mrs.  Druce — a 
woman  without  either  vanity  or  a  secret  ambition  to  be  a 
cinema  star."  Lontaine  laughed  and  lazily  got  up.  "I 
can  only  say  you've  got  a  chance  to  make  a  name  for 
yourself  I  wouldn't  overlook  if  I  stood  in  your  shoes.  .  . 
But  if  you'll  excuse  me  now,  think  I'll  roll  along  and 
arrange  matters  with  the  conductor  and  porters." 

"You're  too  good  to  me,"  Lucinda  protested.  "I  know 
I'm  imposing " 

"Absolutely  nothing  in  that.    Only  too  happy." 

The  door  was  behind  Lucinda's  shoulder.    Closing  it, 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  135 

unseen  by  her,  Lontaine  contrived  to  exchange  with  his 
wife  a  look  of  profound  significance.  Then  he  lounged 
thoughtfully  forward  to  the  club  car  and  delayed  there, 
in  deep  abstraction,  long  enough  to  smoke  two  cigarettes 
before  proceeding  to  hunt  up  and  interview  the  conductor 
about  Lucinda's  change  of  destination,  then  instruct  the 
porters  to  shift  her  luggage  to  the  Lontaine  drawing- 
room  and  his  own  effects  to  the  section  she  was  vacating. 

Into  making  this  move  Lucinda  had  been  talked  against 
her  half-hearted  demurs.  She  knew  very  well  it  wasn't 
the  right  thing  to  do,  to  take  advantage  of  their  kindness 
of  heart,  to  separate  husband  and  wife ;  but  they  wouldn't 
listen  to  her ;  and  after  all  it  was  hardly  in  human  nature 
to  undergo  again  the  ordeal  of  the  open  sleeping-car  by 
night  if  one  might  by  any  means  avoid  it;  while  Lontaine 
insisted  he  wouldn't  mind  in  the  least. 

"I'm  an  old  hand  at  travelling  under  any  and  all  condi- 
tions," he  had  asserted — "accustomed  to  roughing  it,  you 
know.  Even  upper  berths  hold  no  terrors  for  me,  while 
a  whole  section  is  simply  sybaritic  sensuality.  If  one 
hadn't  brought  Fanny  along,  it  would  never  have  entered 
the  old  bean  to  do  oneself  better  than  a  lower.  Absolutely. 
You  don't  imagine  Fan  and  I  could  rest  in  comfort, 
knowing  you  were  unhappy  back  there?  Rather  not !" 

In  point  of  fact,  Lontaine  had  been  at  once  eager  to 
earn  Lucinda's  favour  and  not  at  all  averse  to  a  move 
which  promised  more  personal  liberty  than  one  could 
command  penned  up  in  a  stuffy  coop  with  one's  wife. 
Oh,  not  that  he  wasn't  fond  enough  of  Fan,  but — well, 
when  all  was  said,  one  was  bound  to  admit  Fan  was  a  bit, 
you  know,  American.  Not  to  put  too  fine  a  point  on  it, 
decidedly  American.  Nobody's  fool,  Fan.  Had  a  head  on 
her  shoulders  and  used  it,  and  a  way  of  looking  at  one, 
besides,  as  if  she  were  actually  looking  through  one,  now 
and  then,  that  made  one  feel  positively  ratty.  Chap  could 
do  with  an  occasional  furlough  from  that  sort  of  thing. 

It  wasn't  as  if  they  were  still  lovers,  you  see.    Rough 


136  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

going,  the  devil's  own  luck  and  mutual  disappointment 
had  put  rather  a  permanent  crimp  into  the  first  fine  rap- 
tures. They  got  along  well  enough  nowadays,  to  be  sure, 
but  it  was  no  good  pretending  that  either  couldn't  have 
done  just  as  well  alone.  But  then  it  had  hardly  been  in  the 
first  place  what  one  might  call  a  love  match.  Oh,  yes, 
tremendously  taken  with  each  other,  and  all  that;  but 
if  you  put  it  to  the  test  of  cold  facts,  the  truth  was, 
Fan  had  married  with  an  eye  to  that  distant  title,  whose 
remoteness  the  War  had  so  inconsiderately  failed  to 
abridge,  while  Lontaine  had  been  quite  as  much  influenced 
by  Fan's  filial  relationship  to  a  fortune  of  something  like 
eighty  millions.  But  that  hope,  too,  had  long  since  gone 
glimmering. 

Rotten  form,  not  to  say  vicious,  on  the  part  of  the  Ter- 
ror of  the  Wheat  Pit,  to  cut  off  his  only  begotten  daugh- 
ter with  a  shilling,  one  meant  to  say  its  equivalent  meas- 
ured by  the  bulk  of  his  wealth.  The  legacy  Fan  had  picked 
up  in  Chicago  would  have  been  barely  enough  to  satisfy 
their  joint  and  several  creditors.  Not  that  one  was  mad 
enough  to  fritter  the  money  away  like  that.  But  if  this 
Los  Angeles  venture  were  to  turn  out  a  bloomer  .  .  . 

But  why  anticipate  the  worst?  Buck  up  and  consider 
the  widely  advertised  silver  lining  .  .  .  .  A  bit  of 
luck,  falling  in  with  this  Druce  girl,  under  the  circum- 
stances. No  question  about  the  solid  establishment  of 
her  financial  standing :  the  good  old  Rock  of  Gibraltar  was 
a  reed  in  the  wind  by  comparison.  .  .  .  Now  if  only 
one  dared  count  on  Fan's  being  amenable  to  reason,  grasp- 
ing the  logical  possibilities,  doing  her  bit  like  a  sensible 
little  woman  .  .  . 

Seated  in  Section  10,  waiting  for  the  porter  to  bring 
back  his  personal  impedimenta  from  the  drawing-room, 
Harry  Lontaine  turned  a  handsome  face  to  the  window, 
frowning  absently,  the  nervous  frown  of  a  man  whose 
cleverness  has  never  proved  quite  equal  to  the  task  of 
satisfying  appetites  at  once  strong  and  fastidious. 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  137 

By  degrees  its  place  was  taken  by  a  look  of  dreaming : 
Lontaine  was  viewing  not  the  dreary  wastes  of  Kansan 
lands  under  the  iron  rule  of  Winter  but  a  California  of 
infatuate  imagining,  a  land  all  smiling  in  the  shine  of  a 
benign  sun,  set  with  groves  of  orange  trees  and  olives, 
dotted  with  picturesque  bungalows  whose  white  walls  were 
relieved  by  the  living  green  of  vines,  and  peopled  by  a  race 
of  blessed  beings  born  to  a  heritage  of  lifelong  beauty, 
youth,  and  love-in-idleness ;  a  land  in  whose  charmed  soil 
fortunes  grew  of  seeds  of  careless  sowing,  and  through 
whose  scenes  of  subtropical  loveliness  prophetic  vision 
descried  a  heroic  figure  moving,  courted  and  applauded  by 
happy,  unenvious  multitudes,  the  figure  of  Harry  Lon- 
taine, Esq.,  newest  but  mightiest  overlord  of  the  cin- 
ema .  .  . 

From  this  delectable  realm  the  dreamer  was  recalled 
by  consciousness  of  somebody  standing  in  the  aisle  and 
staring  impertinently.  Racial  shyness  erased  all  signs  of 
wistfulness  in  one  instant  and  cloaked  sensitiveness  in  a 
guise  of  glacial  arrogance;  in  another,  recognition 
dawned,  and  hauteur  was  in  turn  discarded  and  a  more 
approachable  mien  set  up  in  its  stead.  Lontaine  was  too 
diligent  a  student  of  motion-pictures  not  to  know  at  sight 
the  features  of  Lynn  Summerlad,  by  long  odds  the  most 
popular  male  star  of  the  American  cinema.  A  personage 
worth  knowing  .  .  . 

Misreading  his  expression,  Mr.  Summerlad  felt  called 
upon  to  apologize. 

"Beg  your  pardon,  but  I  was  expecting  to  find  a  lady  in 
this  section,  I  may  say  a  friend :  a  Mrs.  Druce.  Do  you 
by  any  chance .?" 


XIX 

BRIDGE  killed  the  long  hours  of  that  first  afternoon 
on  board  a  train  whose  windows  revealed  seldom 
a  prospect  less  desolate  than  one  of  prairie  meadows  fal- 
lowed but  frozen,  dusky  beneath  a  tarnished  sky:  a  still 
and  roomy  land  spaciously  fenced,  scored  by  rare  roads 
that  knew  no  turning,  but  ran  like  ruled  diameters  of  the 
wide  ring  of  the  horizon:  the  wheat-bin  of  the  world 
swept  and  garnished  by  winter  winds. 

Lynn  Summerlad  made  a  fourth  at  the  table  set  up  in 
the  Lontaine  drawing-room;  invited  by  Lontaine  as  an 
acquaintance  of  Lucinda's  and  a  grateful  addition  to  the 
party  because  he  played  something  better  than  merely  a 
good  game. 

Not  only  "fearfully  easy  to  look  at"  (as  Fanny  confided 
to  Lucinda)  but  fair  spoken  and  well  if  at  times  a  shade 
carefully  mannered,  he  was  intelligent  and  ready  of  wit; 
so  that,  when  he  proved  these  qualities  by  not  forcing 
himself  upon  the  trio  at  or  after  dinner,  he  was  missed ; 
and  Lucinda,  while  she  waited  for  sleep  to  blind  her  eyes 
that  night,  discovered  that  she  was  looking  forward  to 
the  next  afternoon,  when  Bridge  would  be  again  in  order 
and  infeasible  without  the  fourth. 

But  she  was  too  sleepy  to  be  concerned  about  the 
methods  with  which  Summerlad,  making  no  perceptible 
effort,  had  succeeded  in  winning  back  the  ground  which 
over-assurance  had  lost  for  him  at  the  breakfast  table.  It 
was  enough  that  he  qualified  as  that  all  too  unordinary 
social  phenomenon,  "an  amusing  person." 

She  began  to  study  him  more  intently  if  discreetly, 
however,  when  the  train  pulled  into  Albuquerque  for  its 
138 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  139 

scheduled  stop  of  an  hour  at  noon  of  the  second  day,  and 
the  Lontaines  and  Lucincla,  alighting  to  stretch  their  legs, 
found  Summerlad,  alert  and  debonnaire,  waiting  on  the 
platform,  prepared  to  act  as  their  guide  and  protect  them 
against  their  tenderfoot  tendency  to  purchase  all  the 
souvenirs  in  sight. 

This  quiet  process  of  noting  and  weighing  ran  like  a 
strand  of  distinctive  colour  through  the  patterned  impres- 
sions of  the  day,  till,  retracing  it  in  reverie  after  night- 
fall, it  was  possible  for  Lucinda  to  make  up  her  mind 
that  she  liked  Lynn  Summerlad  decidedly.  True  that  he 
was  not  of  her  world;  but  then  neither  was  she  herself 
any  more,  in  this  anomalous  stage  of  the  apostate  wife, 
neither  wife  nor  widow,  not  even  honest  divorcee. 

If  Summerlad's  character  as  she  read  it  had  faults,  if 
an  occasional  crudity  flawed  his  finish,  these  things  were 
held  to  be  condonable  in  view  of  his  youth.  He  seemed 
ridiculously  young  to  Lucinda,  but  sure  to  improve  with 
age,  sure  to  take  on  polish  from  rubbing  up  against  life. 
Especially  if  he  were  so  fortunate  as  to  find  the  right 
woman  to  watch  over  and  advise  him.  An  interesting 
job,  for  the  right  woman  .  .  . 

Not  (she  assured  herself  hastily)  that  it  would  be  a  job 
to  interest  her.  An  absurd  turn  of  thought,  anyway. 
Why  she  had  wasted  time  on  it  she  really  didn't  know. 
Unless,  of  course,  its  incentive  had  lain  in  consciousness 
of  Summerlad's  naive  captivation.  One  couldn't  very 
well  overlook  that.  He  was  so  artless  about  it,  boyish,  and 
— well — nice.  It  was  most  entertaining. 

It  was  also,  if  truth  would  out,  far  from  displeasing. 

Apprehension  of  this  most  human  foible  in  herself 
caused  Lucinda  to  smile  confidentially  into  the  darkness 
streaming  gustily  astern  from  the  observation  platform, 
to  which  the  four  of  them  had  repaired  to  wait  while 
their  several  berths  were  being  made  up.  But  the 
hour  was  so  late,  the  night  air  so  chill  in  the  altitudes 
which  the  train  was  then  traversing,  that  no  other  pas- 


140  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

sengers  had  cared  to  dispute  with  them  the  platform 
chairs;  while  Fanny  had  excused  herself  before  and 
Lontaine  had  quietly  taken  himself  off  during  Lucin- 
da's  spell  of  thoughtfulness.  So  that  now  she  found 
herself  alone  with  Summerlad,  when  that  one,  seeing 
the  sweet  line  of  her  cheek  round  in  the  light  from  the 
windows  behind  them,  and  surmising  a  smile  while  still 
her  face  remained  in  shadow,  enquired  with  a  note  of 
plaintiveness :  "What's  the  joke,  Mrs.  Druce?  Won't 
you  let  me  in  on  the  laugh,  too  ?" 

"I'm  not  sure  it  was  a  joke,"  Lucinda  replied;  "it 
was  more  contentment.  I  was  thinking  I'd  been  hav- 
ing a  rather  good  time,  these  last  two  days." 

"It's  seemed  a  wonderful  time  to  me,"  Summerlad 
declared  in  a  voice  that  promised,  with  any  encourage- 
ment, to  become  sentimental. 

"Quite  a  facer  for  my  anticipations,"  Lucinda  inter- 
posed firmly — "considering  the  way  I  had  to  fly  Chi- 
cago and  my  husband."  Then  she  laughed  briefly  to 
prove  she  wasn't  downhearted.  "But  I  daresay  you're 
wondering,  Mr.  Summerlad  ..." 

"Eaten  alive  by  inquisitiveness,  if  you  must  know. 
All  the  same,  I  don't  want  to  know  anything  you  don't 
want  to  tell  me;  and  I  don't  have  to  tell  you,  you  don't 
have  to  tell  me  anything — if  you  know  what  I  mean." 

"It  sounds  a  bit  involved,"  Lucinda  confessed, 
judgmatical;  "still,  I  think  I  do  know  what  you  mean. 
And  it's  only  civil  to  tell  you  I  was  leaving  to  go  to 
Reno  by  way  of  San  Francisco  when  my  husband  found 
me  at  the  Blackstone.  But  now  the  Lontaines  have  per- 
suaded me  to  spend  a  few  weeks  with  them  in  Los  An- 
geles  " 

"That's  something  you'll  never  regret." 

"I  hope  so." 

"You  won't  if  you  leave  it  to  me." 

"Yes,  I'm  sure  you  mean  to  be  nice  to  us ;  but  you're 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  141 

going  to  be  very  busy  when  you  get  to  Los  Angeles, 
aren't  you?" 

"I'm  never  going  to  be  too  busy  to " 

"But  now  you  remind  me,"  Lucinda  interrupted  with 
decision.  "I've  got  a  great  favor  to  beg  of  you,  Mr.  Sum- 
merlad." 

"Can't  make  it  too  great " 

"Fanny  and  I  were  discussing  it  this  morning,  and  it 
seemed  wise  to  us  .  .  .  You've  seen  something  of 
how  persistent  my  husband  can  be " 

"Can't  blame  him  for  that." 

"Well,  then :  the  only  way  I  can  account  for  his  having 
found  me  in  Chicago  is  on  the  theory  that  he  employed 
detectives.  But  of  course  I'd  made  it  easy  for  them  by 
using  my  own  name  wherever  I  went." 

"Why  don't  you  use  another  name,  then  ?" 

"Just  what  Fanny  and  I  were  saying.  If  I  don't,  Bel — 
Mr.  Druce — is  sure  to  follow  me  to  Los  Angeles,  sooner 
or  later,  and  make  more  scenes.  I'd  like  to  avoid  that,  if 
I  can." 

"Surest  thing  you  know,  he'll  find  out,  if  the  Los  An- 
geles newspapers  ever  discover  Mrs.  Bellamy  Druce  of 
New  York  is  in  the  civic  midst.  The  best  little  thing  they 
do  is  print  scare-head  stories  about  distinguished  visitors 
and  the  flattering  things  they  say  about  our  pretty  village." 

"That  settles  it,  then :  I'm  going  to  be  somebody  else 
for  a  while.  Help  me  choose  a  good,  safe  nom  de  guerre, 
please." 

"Let's  see:  Mrs.  Lontaine  calls  you  Cindy     ..." 

"Short  for  Lucinda." 

"How  about  Lee  ?    Lucinda  Lee  ?" 

"I  like  that.  But  it  does  sound  like  the  movies, 
doesn't  it?" 

"What  do  you  expect  of  a  movie  actor,  Mrs.  Druce?" 

"Mrs.  Lee,  please." 

"Beg  pardon:  Mrs.  Lee." 

"And  you'll  keep  my  horrid  secret,  won't  you  ?" 


142  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

"If  you  knew  how  complimented  I  feel,  you'd  know  I 
would  die  several  highly  disagreeable  deaths  before  I'd 
let  you  think  me  unworthy  of  your  confidence." 

"That's  very  sweet,"  Lucinda  considered  with  mischie- 
vous gravity.  "And  I  am  most  appreciative.  But  if  you 
will  persist  in  playing  on  my  susceptibilities  so  ardently, 
Mr.  Summerlad,  I'll  have  to  go  to  bed." 

"Please  sit  still :  I'll  be  good." 

"No,  but  seriously,"  Lucinda  insisted,  rising :  "it  is  late, 
and  I  want  to  wake  up  early,  I  don't  want  to  miss  any- 
thing of  this  wonderful  country." 

"You  won't  see  anything  in  the  morning  but  desert, 
the  edge  of  the  Mojave." 

"But  we've  been  in  the  desert  all  afternoon  and  I 
adore  it." 

"Oh,  these  Arizona  plains!  they're  not  real  desert, 
they're  just  letting  on ;  give  them  a  few  drinks  and  they'll 
start  a  riot — of  vegetation.  But  the  Mojave's  sure-enough 
he-desert:  sand  and  sun,  cactus  and  alkali.  I'm  much 
more  interesting,  I'm  so  human." 

"Yes :  I've  noticed.  Masculine  human.  But,  you  see, 
a  desert's  a  novelty.  I  really  must  go  .  .  .  " 

She  went  to  sleep  under  two  blankets,  but  before  day- 
break a  sudden  rise  in  temperature  woke  her  up. 

The  train  was  at  a  standstill.  Lucinda  put  up  the  win- 
dow-shade to  see,  all  dim  in  lilac  twilight,  a  brick  plat- 
form, a  building  of  Spanish  type,  a  signboard  proclaiming 
one  enigmatic  word :  NEEDLES. 

Sharp  jolts  in  series  ran  through  the  linked  cars,  a 
trainman  beneath  the  window  performed  cryptic  calis- 
thenics with  a  lantern,  one  unseen  uttered  a  prolonged, 
heart-rending  howl,  couplings  clanked,  the  train  gathered 
way. 

As  it  toiled  with  stertorous  pantings  on  up-grades  seem- 
ingly interminable,  the  night  grew  cool  again  but  by  no 
means  so  cold  as  at  bedtime.  The  outposts  of  Winter 
had  been  passed.  The  porter  who  tidied  up  the  drawing- 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  143 

room  in  the  morning  opened  a  window  and  adjusted  a 
cinder-screen :  the  breath  of  the  desert  was  warm  but  de- 
liciously  sweet.  Outside,  heat-devils  jigged  above  a 
blasted  waste  that  was,  as  Lucinda  viewed  it,  weirdly 
beautiful.  The  noontide  air  at  Barstow  had  all  the  fever 
of  a  windless  day  of  August  in  the  East.  Within  the 
riven  scarps  of  the  Cajon  Pass  it  was  hotter  still.  A  long, 
swift  down-swoop  toward  the  Pacific  brought  them  by 
mid-afternoon  to  San  Bernardino,  set  in  emerald,  where 
people  lolled  about  the  platform  in  white  flannels  and 
airy  organdies. 

The  panorama  of  sylvan  loveliness,  all  green  and  gold, 
commanded  by  the  windows  from  San  Bernardino  on- 
ward, prepared  for  a  Los  Angeles  widely  unlike  the  city 
of  Lucinda's  first  confused  impressions,  for  something  Ar- 
cadian and  spacious  instead  of  a  school  of  sky-scrapers 
that  might  have  been  transported  en  masse  from  almost 
any  thriving  commercial  centre  of  the  North  Atlantic  sea- 
board. She  was  sensible  of  dull  resentment  as  Summer- 
lad's  car — an  open  one  but  of  overpowering  bigness  and 
staggering  in  its  colour-scheme  of  yellow  and  black  with 
silver  trimmings — progressed  in  majesty  through  streets 
where  monstrous  trolleys  ground  and  clanged,  motor  ve- 
hicles plodded,  champing  at  the  bits,  in  solid  column  for- 
mation, and  singularly  shabby  multitudes  drifted  listlessly 
between  towering  white  marble  walls. 

Only  train-weariness  and  the  glad  prospect  of  a  tub  bath 
earned  the  Hotel  Alexandria  forgivenness  for  its  sin  of 
ostentation  in  pretending  to  stand  at  Broadway  and 
Forty-second  street,  New  York. 

That  sense  of  having  been  somehow  swindled  was,  if 
anything,  stronger  in  consequence  of  an  expedition  afoot 
with  Fanny  after  breakfast,  in  the  course  of  which  the  two 
women  explored  the  shopping  and  business  district  adj 
jacent  to  the  hotel.  The  imaginations  responsible  for  the 
plan  and  building  of  the  city  had  suffered  from  that  deadly 
blight  of  imitativeness  which  afflicts  the  American  men- 


144  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

tality  all  the  land  over,  restricting  every  form  of  emula- 
tion to  charted  channels,  with  the  result  that  ambition 
seldom  seeks  its  outlet  in  expression  of  individuality  but 
as  a  rule  in  the  belittling  of  another's  achievement  through 
simple  exaggeration  of  its  bulk  and  lines,  in  being  not  dis- 
tinctive but  only  bigger,  showier,  and  more  blatant. 

Having  lunched  with  Fanny  (Lontaine  was  busy,  it 
was  understood,  promoting  his  indefinite  but  extensive 
motion-picture  interests)  Lucinda  returned  to  rooms 
which  Summerlad  had  caused  to  be  transformed  in  her 
absence  into  the  likeness  of  a  fashionable  florist  and 
fruiterer's  shop;  and  while  she  was  trying  to  decide 
whether  to  move  half  the  lot  or  herself  out  into  the  hall, 
the  telephone  rang  and  a  strange  voice  announced  that 
Mr.  Summerlad's  chauffeur  was  speaking  and  Mr.  Sum- 
merlad's  car  was  at  the  door  and  likewise  at  the  disposition 
of  Mrs.  Lee  and  Mrs.  Lontaine  for  the  afternoon. 

"Ought  we  ?"  Lucinda  doubted  with  a  little  grimace. 

"Why  not?"  Fanny  asked. 

"It  seems  just  a  bit  ...  Oh,  I  don't  know.  I 
presume  it  would  be  ungracious  to  question  Californian 
hospitality." 

"Copy-Californian,"  Fanny  corrected.  "Chances  are 
you'll  find  Summerlad's  a  native  son  of  Omaha  or  some 
point  East.  Does  it  matter  ?  He  means  well,  and  we  want 
to  see  Los  Angeles." 

"But  that  car !" 

"It  is  rather  a  circus-wagon ;  but  judging  by  what  we've 
seen  in  the  streets  today,  the  way  to  make  oneself  con- 
spicuous here  is  to  sport  a  car  of  gaudy  black  or  scream- 
ing navy  blue.  In  the  racy  idiom  of  the  Golden  West — 
let's  go." 

They  went.  In  ten  minutes  Los  Angeles  of  the  sky- 
scrapers was  forgotten.  For  three  hours  league  after 
league  of  garden-land,  groves,  plantations,  ocean  beach, 
bare  brown  hills,  verdant  valleys  wide  as  an  Eastern 
county,  all  bathed  in  sunlight  of  peculiar  brilliance  and 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  145 

steadiness  falling  through  crystalline  air  from  a  sky  inno- 
cent of  cloud,  passed  in  review  before  beauty-stricken 
eyes. 

In  the  end  the  car  turned  without  warning  off  a  main- 
travelled  highway,  swept  the  bluestone  drive  of  what  might 
well  have  been  parked  private  grounds,  and  stopped  be- 
fore the  imposing,  columned  portico  of  an  old  Colonial 
mansion. 

The  chauffeur  turned  back  a  friendly,  grinning  face. 
"This  is  where  Mr.  Summerlad  works,"  he  announced — 
"the  Zinn  Studios." 

"Studios!" 

"Yes,  ma'm — where  they  make  the  movin'-pictures." 

Lucinda  stared  unbelievingly  at  the  building,  finding 
it  hardly  possible  to  reconcile  such  mellow  beauty  of 
scheme  and  proportion,  so  harmonious  with  the  spacious 
lawns  and  massed  foliage  of  its  setting,  with  memories 
of  those  grubby,  grimy,  back-street  premises  tenanted  by 
the  Gulp  studios  in  New  York. 

A  screen-door  beneath  the  portico  opened,  Mr.  Sum- 
merlad emerged,  a  shape  of  slender  elegance  in  Shan- 
tung silk,  and  ran  impetuously  down  to  the  car.  With 
more  deliberation  Lontaine  appeared  and  waited. 

"Mrs.  Lee,  Mrs.  Lontaine :  I  hope  you'll  forgive  me  for 
telling  Tom  to  stop  in  here  instead  of  taking  you  back  to 
the  hotel.  Lontaine's  here,  and  we've  planned  a  little 
surprise,  dinner  at  my  place  out  in  Beverly  Hills,  just  the 
four  of  us.  You  won't  say  no  and  spoil  everything? 
That's  splendid !  But  it's  early,  and  perhaps  you'd  like  a 
look  around  a  regular  movie  factory  first  ..." 

Conducting  them  through  the  building  by  way  of 
a  panelled  entrance  hall,  Summerlad  explained  that  the 
stages  were  temporarily  idle,  due  to  the  fact  that  photog- 
raphy on  two  productions  in  process  had  recently  been 
finished  and  their  casts  disbanded,  only  the  directors  and 
their  staffs  remaining  to  cut  and  title  the  films ;  while  the 


146  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

production  in  which  Summerlad  was  to  play  the  lead  was 
as  yet  not  ready  for  the  cameras. 

The  working  premises  lay  behind  the  administration 
building.  But  here  again  Lucinda  noted  few  points  of 
close  resemblance  to  the  Gulp  studios.  A  field  several 
acres  in  extent,  about  half  in  turf,  was  surrounded  by 
a  sizeable  village  of  glass-roofed  stages  and  structures 
housing  the  technical  and  mechanical  departments — a  lab- 
oratory, a  costumier's,  property,  carpenter  and  scene- 
painting  shops,  directors'  offices,  dressing,  projection  and 
cutting-rooms,  a  garage,  sheds  to  shelter  motor-cars  and 
trucks  by  the  score,  stables,  a  small  menagerie,  a  huge  tank 
for  "water  stuff,"  a  monolithic  fireproof  vault  of  cement 
for  the  storage  of  film. 

Due  in  great  measure  to  temporary  suspension  of  active 
camera-work,  the  place  seemed  very  peaceful  and  per- 
vaded by  an  atmosphere  of  orderliness  and  efficiency. 
There  were  no  actors  wasting  time  about  the  grounds,  no 
sets  occupied  the  huge  enclosed  stages,  the  men  at  work 
in  the  several  departments  seemed  all  to  be  busy. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Lee:  what  do  you  think  of  a  California 
studio  ?  Not  much  like  what  you've  seen  back  East,  eh  ?" 

Lucinda  shook  her  head,  and  smiled.  "I  am  enchanted 
with  this  country,"  she  said ;  "if  what  I've  seen  of  it  this 
afternoon  is  any  criterion,  I'm  afraid  it's  going  to  be  hard 
to  go  away  from  ..." 

"You  haven't  begun  to  see  it  yet."  Summerlad  de- 
clared. "Wait  till  we've  had  a  few  motor  trips." 

"As  for  your  studio,  it  is  most  marvellous  to  me.  If 
they're  all  like  this,  I  don't  wonder  people  are  mad  to  act 
in  motion-pictures.  If  Mr.  Gulp  had  promised  me  any- 
thing like  this,  I  don't  believe  I  should  have  had  the 
courage  to  refuse." 

"It's  not  too  late  to  change  your  mind,  Mrs.  Lee,"  Lon- 
taine  suggested.  "In  fact,  if  I  thought  there  was  any  hope 
you  would,  I'd  go  down  on  my  knees  to  you.  Oh,  not  to 
act  for  Gulp,  but  for  me ;  or  rather,  for  yourself,  as  the 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  147 

head  and  the  star  of  your  own  company.  No :  I'm  seri- 
ous. I've  been  talking  with  several  people  today  who  want 
me  to  try  producing  out  here.  I  can  get  unlimited  capital 
to  back  me.  This  country  today  is  crying  for  better  pic- 
tures— and  I  know  how  to  make  them.  I  can  bring  to  the 
American  cinema  the  one  thing  it  needs,  a  thorough 
knowledge  of  European  methods.  Only  one  thing  makes 
me  hesitate,  the  lack  of  a  suitable  star.  All  the  people  of 
real  ability  seem  to  be  tied  up  under  long-term  contracts. 
I  may  lose  months  looking  for  the  right  actress  unless 
you " 

"Why  pick  on  me?"  Lucinda  laughed.  "I'm  not  even 
an  actress." 

"Ah!  you  forgot  I've  seen  you  prove  on  the  screen 
what  you  can  do.  You  don't  know  yourself,  Mrs.  Lee. 
There  isn't  a  woman  in  the  country  can  touch  you,  if 
you'll  take  your  ability  seriously.  You  need  only  two 
things  to  make  you  great,  a  good  director,  and  self-con- 
fidence." 

"Aren't  you  running  a  great  risk,  making  such  natter- 
ing overtures  to  an  untried,  unknown  amateur?" 

"Don't  worry  about  me.  If  I  had  any  hope  of  being  able 
to  persuade  you  to  try  it  on,  I'd  tell  you  to  name  your  own 
terms,  and  shoulder  the  risk  without  a  murmur." 

Lontaine's  earnestness  was  so  real  that  one  might  no 
longer  meet  his  arguments  with  levity.  There  was  a 
strained  look  of  anxiety  in  the  blue  eyes,  a  restrained  pas- 
sion of  pleading  in  the  ordinarily  languid  accents.  Or  else 
Lucinda  fancied  these  things. 

But  a  sidelong  glance  showed  that  Fanny,  too,  was  ap- 
parently hanging  between  hope  and  fear  .  .  . 

And  a  thought  revived  that  had  once  or  twice  before 
presented  itself,  a  suspicion  that  all  was  not  as  well  as 
one  might  wish  with  the  state  of  the  Lontaine  fortunes, 
strengthening  the  surmise  that  Lucinda's  decision  meant 
more  to  them  both  than  Lontaine  had  confessed. 

Still  one  hesitated  to  believe    . 


148  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

"But  you  can't  be  serious !  Do  you  really  want  me  to 
become  a  movie  actress  under  your  management?" 

"You  can't  think  of  anything  I  wouldn't  do  to  persuade 
you." 

"Why  not,  Mrs.  Lee  ?"  Summerlad  urged.  "It  would  be 
great  fun  for  you,  and  you  can't  fail,  you  can't  lose  any- 
thing. If  you  only  knew  how  inferior  most  stars  are  to 
you  in  every  way  ..." 

"And  if  you  should  fail,  Cindy,"  Fanny  chimed  in — 
"what  does  it  matter  ?  Who  would  know  ?  It  wouldn't  be 
you,  it  would  be  Lucinda  Lee." 

"No,"  Lontaine  insisted :  "I've  got  a  better  screen  name 
that  that  for  her.  Not  Lucinda :  Linda  Lee." 

"Come,  Mrs.  Lee :  say  you'll  try  it  on,  if  only  for  the 
lark  of  it." 

"If  I  should,  Mr.  Summerlad,  it  wouldn't  be  for  fun." 

"So  much  the  better." 

"Then  you  will  ?"  Lontaine  persisted.    "Do  say  yes." 

"Let  me  think    ..." 

And  why  not?  Lucinda  asked  herself.  She  was  alone 
in  the  world,  lonely  but  for  these  good  friends  who  needed 
her  help,  or  seemed  to.  It  would  be  good  fun,  it  would  be 
interesting,  it  would  satisfy  a  need  of  which  she  had  been 
discontentedly  aware  even  in  the  days  when  she  had  yet 
to  dream  of  leaving  Bel.  And — even  as  Fanny  had  ar- 
gued— if  she  should  fail  and  have  to  give  it  up,  who  would 
care  what  had  become  of  "Linda  Lee"  ? 

"Very  well,"  she  said  at  length,  with  an  uncertain  smile 
— "suppose  we  try." 


XX 

tlr  I  ^O  tomorrow's  morning  star  of  the  screen,  Linda 
1  Lee!" 

Thus  Lynn  Summerlad,  mildly  exalted,  graceful  and 
gracious  even  beyond  his  studied  habit,  flourishing  a  glass 
of  California  champagne  above  the  dinner  table  in  his 
bungalow  in  Beverly  Hills. 

The  toast  went  by  acclamation,  and  Lucinda  laughed, 
at  once  gratified,  diverted,  and  disposed  to  deprecate  the 
spirit  of  these  felicitations  as  premature. 

It  all  seemed  rather  ridiculous,  when  one  stopped  to 
think,  this  taking  for  granted  the  success  of  a  venture  pro- 
jected so  lately,  by  no  strain  of  imagination  to  be  consid- 
ered as  already  launched,  and  based  wholly  upon  the  pos- 
tulation  that  the  greenest  of  novices  might  by  some  sor- 
cery of  the  cinema  be  ripened  overnight  into  a  genius  of 
sorts. 

A  phrase  of  Gulp's  recurred  unbidden :  "A  lot  of  kids, 
that's  what  we  got  to  make  pitchers  with,  a  lot  of  kids." 

It  was  childish,  in  a  way ;  on  the  other  hand,  it  was  un- 
deniably pleasant  to  think  of  oneself  as  one  was  being 
tempted  to,  as  a  sort  of  Sleeping  Beauty  of  the  screen  only 
waiting  to  be  awakened  to  vivid  life  by  one  wave  of  the 
witching  wand  of  courage  and  self-confidence;  pleasant 
to  let  oneself  go  and  believe  such  things  might  be. 

Nor  was  this  difficult.  Whether  it  resulted  from  the 
catching  enthusiasm  of  her  company,  or  from  self-reli- 
ance new-born  of  her  success  in  doing  without  Bellamy, 
or  whether  it  were  the  glamour  of  this  romantic  land, 
where  man  since  time  out  of  memory  had  been  accustomed 
to  see  his  maddest  dreams  come  true,  certain  it  was  that 
149 


150  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

there  seemed  nothing  essentially  improbable  in  the  as- 
sumption that  "Linda  Lee,"  could  figure  if  she  would  as 
"tomorrow's  morning  star  of  the  screen." 

One  had  only  to  listen  to  the  gossip  of  Lontaine  and 
Summerlad  to  appreciate  that  stranger  things  had  hap- 
pened in  the  history  of  motion-pictures.  Nothing,  in- 
deed, was  conceivably  more  strange  than  that  same  his- 
tory, more  fantastic  and  incredible  than  the  record  of  its 
growth,  almost  within  the  span  of  a  single  decade,  from 
the  status  of  a  toy  to  that  of  an  institution  forming  an 
inseparable  part  of  the  fabric  of  life,  taking  its  toll  of  the 
humblest,  and  throning  and  dethroning  kings  qf  finance 
with  the  impersonal  ruthlessness  of  an  elemental  force. 

One  of  the  greatest  of  the  producing  organizations, 
whose  studios  covered  whole  blocks  of  the  heart  of  Holly- 
wood, had  had  its  beginnings  in  a  trifling  story  photo- 
graphed under  a  big  sun-umbrella  in  a  vacant  lot.  Its 
most  formidable  rival,  with  which  it  had  ultimately  amal- 
gamated, had  been  first  financed  with  the  mean  savings  of 
a  fur-cutter  from  the  lower  East  Side  of  New  York. 
Men  whose  abilities  had  proved  inadequate  to  command 
steady  employment  at  fifty  dollars  a  week  in  the  legiti- 
mate theatre  were  drawing  a  daily  wage  of  five  hundred 
dollars  as  directors  of  motion-pictures.  The  one-time  pan- 
tomime comedian  of  an  English  company  presenting  a 
knockabout  vaudeville  act  had  made  himself  a  multi-mil- 
lionaire through  clowning  before  a  camera.  Young  men 
whose  dramatic  equipment  was  limited  to  the  knowledge 
of  how  to  show  their  teeth  and  slick  their  hair,  young 
women  who  had  walked  into  favour  on  the  strength  of 
their  noble  underpinning  alone,  were  selling  their  services 
to  the  cinema  under  contracts  running  for  terms  of  years 
at  five  thousand  dollars  a  week;  and  you  could  take  it 
from  Mr.  Summerlad  that  most  of  these  had  come  to  Los 
Angeles  with  not  more  than  one  dollar  to  click  against 
another. 

"Why,  look  at  me,"  he  invited  in  an  expansive  moment  I 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  151 

"never  had  earned  a  dollar  in  my  life.  Didn't  have  to. 
you  know :  folks  had  a  little  money.  Six  years  ago  my 
little  sister  caught  a  bad  cold  and  the  doctor  prescribed 
a  Winter  in  California.  Mother  and  I  brought  her  out 
and  rented  a  bungalow  in  the  foothills,  up  back  of  the 
Hollywood  Hotel.  One  day  while  I  was  wandering 
about  I  saw  a  car-load  of  people  in  paint  and  evening 
clothes  stop  in  front  of  a  house  with  good-looking 
grounds.  I  stopped,  too.  So  did  others ;  quite  a  crowd 
collected  while  they  were  setting  up  the  camera.  Pres- 
ently a  little  fellow  in  riding-breeches,  with  an  eyeshade, 
a  shock  of  red  hair,  and  more  freckles  than  anybody  ever 
saw  on  a  human  map  before  or  since,  came  weaving 
through  the  crowd  as  if  he  was  looking  for  somebody. 
When  he  saw  me,  he  stopped  and  said :  'You'll  do.  Got  a 
dress  suit?'  I  laughed  and  said  I  had.  He  took  out  a 
little  book,  wrote  down  my  name  and  address  and  said: 
'Studio  tomorrow  morning  at  eight,  made  up.  We'll 
need  you  about  three  days.  Five  a  day.'  Then  he  hustled 
on.  I  went  home  and  told  my  mother  and  sister  the  joke. 
They  egged  me  on  to  try  it  for  the  fun  of  it.  Within  two 
months  I  was  on  the  payroll  at  a  hundred  a  week,  and 
now  ...  " 

Summerlad  flashed  an  apologetic  smile.  "One  of  the 
worst  faults  we  movie  actors  have,  Mrs.  Lee,  is  talking  big 
about  our  salaries.  So  I  wont  say  any  more  than  this: 
outside  the  Big  Four — Mary  and  Doug  and  Charlie  and 
Bill  Hart — there's  mighty  few  that  drag  down  as  much 
green  money  a  week  as  I  do." 

"I'm  glad  to  absolve  you  of  the  sin  of  boasting,  Mr. 
Summerlad." 

"I  suppose  that  did  sound  funny;  but  then,  you  see, 
I  am  a  movie  actor,  I  don't  pretend  to  be  better  than  the 
rest  of  us.  ...  You  wouldn't  guess  who  that  di- 
rector was — assistant  director  he  was  then — who  gave  me 
my  first  engagement :  Barry  Nolan !" 

The  name  was  apparently  known  to  Lontaine,  for  he 


152  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

exclaimed  "You  don't  mean  it!"  as  if  no  more  exciting 
information  had  come  to  his  ears  in  many  days. 

"The  man  I've  got  in  mind  to  direct  you  in  your  first 
picture,  Mrs.  Lee;  that  is,  if  you  can  get  hold  of  Barry. 
You  couldn't  do  better,  but  his  salary's  ee-normous.  He's 
working  down  in  Culver  City  now,  and  I  don't  know  how 
long  his  contract  runs,  but  you  might  be  lucky  enough  to 
make  a  deal  of  some  sort.  I'd  give  him  a  ring  and  find  out 
for  you,  but  I  happen  to  know  Barry's  got  a  party  on  at 
Sunset  tonight.  We  might  jump  into  my  machine  and 
blow  down  there,  if  you  like." 

"There's  no  hurry,  Mr.  Summerlad.  Remember,  Mr. 
Lontaine  hasn't  taken  the  first  step  toward  forming  a 
company  yet ;  he  isn't  in  a  position  to  make  Mr.  Nolan  any 
definite  offer." 

"Well,  but  I'd  hate  to  have  you  lose  a  chance.  Barry's 
a  wonder.  Even  Griffith  takes  a  back  seat  when  Barry 
Nolan  picks  up  the  megaphone.  And  there  isn't  anything 
I  wouldn't  do  for  him.  Lord !  how  he  worked  to  break 
me  in." 

Summerlad  sighed,  reminiscent.  "Them  was  the  happy 
days.  We  worked  hard  for  little  money,  but  we  had  a 
good  time  and  a  healthy  one,  out  in  the  open  air  practi- 
cally all  day  long.  Light  effects  were  then  just  beginning 
to  be  discussed ;  I  don't  believe  two  studios  on  the  Coast 
had  enclosed  stages.  Generally  speaking,  all  our  work 
was  done  either  on  location  or  on  open  stages  under  dif- 
fusers." 

Lucinda  repeated  the  last  word  with  an  enquiring  in- 
flexion, and  Summerlad  explained. 

"You  see,  in  those  days  we  had  to  depend  on  the  sun  to 
light  our  interior  sets,  and  direct  exposure  meant  hard 
contrasts  of  light  and  shadow  that  didn't  look  natural. 
So  we  stretched  great  sheets  of  thin  cloth  on  wire 
frames  overhead,  and  they  broke  up  the  sun's  rays  and 
diffused  an  even  glow  all  over  the  sets.  But  of  course 
that  restricted  us  to  overhead  lighting  for  all  interiors, 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  153 

and  that  was  monotonous  and  unnatural  besides,  because 
ordinary  rooms  aren't  lighted  from  the  ceiling.  And  my ! 
but  it  used  to  be  cosy,  working  under  diffusers  on  a  sum- 
mer's day !" 

"But  if  you  depended  on  the  sun  so  exclusively,"  Fanny 
wanted  to  know,  "what  did  you  do  in  the  rainy  season?" 

"Loafed,  that's  all:  just  loafed.  There  wasn't  any- 
thing else  to  do  but  loaf  around  and  watch  the  sky  for 
signs  of  a  break  and  tell  each  other  how  good  we  were. 
That  was  another  reason  why  artificial  lighting  had  to 
come ;  it  cost  too  much  to  carry  studio  overheads  with  all 
production  at  a  standstill  during  a  rainy  season  that 
would  maybe  last  five  months,  or  a  heavy  production  pay- 
roll when  often  the  rain  would  stop  camera- work  for 
five  days  on  end,  and  you  never  could  count  on  two  clear 
days  together.  So,  one  after  another,  the  big  studios  be- 
gan to  build  enclosed  stages  and  work  more  and  more  by 
Kliegs  and  Cooper-Hewitts,  till  at  last — well,  today  the 
open  stage  is  almost  a  thing  of  the  past,  and  acting  for 
the  camera  isn't  the  good  fun  it  used  to  be — kenneled  all 
day  long  on  a  sweltering  stage,  and  the  lights  getting  your 
eyes  like  they  do.  Sometimes,  after  a  spell  of  work  on 
interiors,  I'm  as  good  as  blind  for  a  week.  .  .  . 
Funny  to  think — isn't  it  ? — the  California  studios  are  using 
artificial  light  almost  exclusively,  except  of  course  for  loca- 
tion work,  when  what  brought  them  out  here  was  steady 
sunlight  that  didn't  cost  anything  seven  or  nine  months 
out  of  each  year." 

"But  if  there  is  no  longer  any  real  reason,  such  as  the 
economy  of  sunlight,  why  do  the  producers  stop  on  here?" 

"Because  they  took  root  in  Los  Angeles  in  the  early 
days,  before  people  had  forgotten  that  principles  of  ordi- 
nary economy  might  be  applied  to  making  pictures,  and 
what  took  root  grew,  till  today  there  are  hundreds  of 
millions  invested  in  picture  plants  here.  Also  because  all 
the  picture  people  have  dug  in  around  the  plants.  Nearly 
every  good  actor  has  his  permanent  home  here,  likewise 


154  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

most  of  the  bad  ones ;  and  those  who  do  get  a  job  in  the 
East  hurry  back  as  soon  as  they  finish  up,  so  as  not  to  be 
among  the  missing  if  they're  wanted  for  another  job.  You 
can  cast  almost  any  picture  perfectly  in  a  few  days  in 
Hollywood,  whereas  any  place  else,  except  maybe  New 
York,  it  would  take  weeks  to  locate  your  people  and  bring 
them  together,  and  there'd  be  transportation  to  pay  for 
into  the  bargain." 

Lontaine  interposed  a  question  of  a  technical  nature, 
and  as  Summerlad  answered  him  at  length,  Lucinda's  at- 
tention wandered,  she  began  to  think  more  about  the 
speaker,  less  about  what  he  was  saying.  Undeniably  a 
most  satisfying  creature,  at  least  to  look  at.  Bending 
over  the  table,  his  face  glowing  as  he  illustrated  his  mean- 
ing with  an  animated  play  of  hands:  though  his  words 
were  all  for  Lontaine.  Summerlad's  consciousness  was 
constant  to  Lucinda,  his  quick  eyes  were  forever  seeking 
hers  .  .  .  Hard  hit  and  making  no  secret  of  it. 

Not  that  it  mattered,  more  than  for  the  good  it  did 
one's  self-esteem  to  be  respectfully  if  openly  adored  by  a 
personable  young  man  whom  one  found  agreeable.  Van- 
ity had  been  sorely  sprung  by  Bellamy's  sacrifice  of  his 
wife's  love  to  his  appetite  for  the.  cheap  excitement  of 
flirting  with  women  of  cheap  emotions.  His  pursuit  of 
her  Lucinda  valued  at  no  more  than  one  last  effort  to 
salve  the  hurt  her  desertion  of  him  had  dealt  to  his 
vanity.  Neither  had  Daubeney's  devotion  meant  a  great 
deal :  being  something  too  familiar  through  old  acquaint- 
ance not  to  be  misprized.  It  had  needed  some  such  new 
conquest  as  this  to  make  Lucinda  think  well  of  herself 
again;  this  at  least  proved  her  charms  not  yet  passee. 
Reassurance  for  which  she  was  disproportionately  grate- 
ful ;  and  gratitude  is  commonly  the  most  demoralizing  of 
vices. 

Lucinda  inclined  to  approve  the  style  in  which  Sum- 
merlad maintained  himself.  The  bungalow,  secluded  in 
wide  and  well-kempt  grounds,  might  have  served  as  the 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  155 

warm- weather  retreat  of  a  Grand  Duke.  And  if  there 
was  a  suspicion  of  rule-of-thumb  in  some  of  its  effects,  at 
least  it  could  be  said  that  Summerlad  had  shown  sound 
judgment  in  selecting  an  interior  decorator  of  sound 
taste. 

The  dinner  had  been  well  cooked  and  served  by  a  deft 
Japanese.  As  it  neared  its  close  a  more  cheerful  partie 
carree  would  have  been  far  to  seek.  Indeed,  had  Lu- 
cinda  entertained  genuine  misgivings  as  to  the  wisdom  of 
her  decision  to  try  her  luck  on  the  screen,  they  must 
have  been  compensated  by  its  action  on  the  spirits  of  her 
friends.  And  it  couldn't  have  been  anything  else,  for 
they  had  partaken  sparingly  of  the  native  champagne 
which,  while  fair  enough  of  its  kind,  was  nothing  to 
seduce  palates  educated  on  London  Dry.  Yet  Fanny's 
effervescence  outvied  that  of  the  wine.  Lontaine's  eyes 
had  lost  altogether  their  tense  expression,  Summerlad  was 
on  his  mettle  in  his  dual  role  of  host  and  courtier,  Lucinda 
herself  was  stirred  by  a  gayety  she  had  too  seldom  known 
since  the  first  years  of  her  marriage. 

By  merely  turning  her  head  she  could  look  out  through 
an  open  casement  to  a  lawn  where  moonlight  like  liquid 
silver  slept  between  mysterious,  dense  masses  of  purple 
shadow.  The  breath  of  the  night  was  bland  and  fragrant. 
Somewhere  at  a  distance  a  sentimental  orchestra  was 
playing,  possibly  at  the  Beverly  Hills  Hotel.  In  Chicago 
the  thermometer  had  shivered  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
zero ;  New  York,  according  to  telegraphic  news,  was  dig- 
ging out  from  under  a  snowfall  second  only  to  that  of  its 
legendary  blizzard. 

"I  want  to  purr,"  Lucinda  confessed,  finding  Summer- 
lad's  eyes  upon  her. 

"You're  beginning  to  fall  under  the  spell  of  California." 

"I  told  you  this  afternoon  I  was  already  sensitive  of  its 
enchantment.  Tonight,  I  think,  completes  its  work:  I 
am  enslaved." 

"I  must  make  the  most  of  these  moments,  then.    Pres-» 


156  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

ently  we'll  both  be  busy,  you  in  especial  far  too  busy  to 
give  me  many  evenings  like  this." 

"I'm  not  at  all  afraid  of  being  doomed  to  ennui  through 
any  lack  of  ingenuity  in  you." 

"If  I'm  not  mistaken,  that's  a  dare." 

"It's  as  you  care  to  take  it." 

He  accepted  with  a  smile  the  smiling  gage  of  her  eyes. 
They  understood  each  other  perfectly. 

When  it  was  time  to  return  to  the  Alexandria,  Summer- 
lad  insisted  on  driving  them  home  himself ;  and  as  they 
drew  near  to  Hollywood  swung  the  car  sharply  off  the 
highroad,  and  took  a  by-way  leading  into  the  foothills. 
In  a  few  minutes  more  they  had  left  behind  every  hint 
of  civilization,  other  than  the  well-metalled  way  they 
travelled,  and  were  climbing  a  road  that  wound  snakily 
up  precipitious  mountainsides,  threaded  unholy  gulches, 
or  struck  boldly  across  spine-like  ridges  from  which  the 
ground,  clothed  in  chaparral,  fell  dizzily  away  on  either 
hand  into  black  gulfs  of  silence.  The  air  grew  colder, 
Lucinda  and  the  Lontaines  grateful  for  the  wraps  which 
Summerlad  had  pressed  upon  them.  In  the  course  of  half 
an  hour  the  car  halted  on  an  isolate  peak,  and  all  the  low-1 
lands  lay  unfolded  to  their  vision,  from  the  foothills  to 
the  sea,  a  land  like  a  violet  pool  with  a  myriad  winking 
facets  of  blue-white  light ;  as  some  vast  store  of  diamonds 
might  be  strewn  by  hands  of  heedless  prodigality  upon 
a  dark  velvet  field 

Pointing,  Summerlad  began  to  recite  the  names  of 
places  represented  by  lines  and  groups  of  lights :  Holly" 
wood  at  their  feet,  the  Wilshire  district  with  Los  Angeles 
beyond,  Culver  City,  Pasadena  away  to  the  left,  Santa 
Monica  far  to  the  right,  Venice,  Del  Rey,  Redondo 
.  .  .  "The  kingdoms  of  the  world  you're  come  to  con- 
quer, Mrs.  Lee." 

"I  shan't  say  'Get  thee  behind  me,' "  Lucinda  retorted  ; 
"I've  a  sensible  notion  you're  safer  where  I  can  keep 
an  eye  on  you." 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  157 

It  was  true  enough  that  the  facile  infatuation  which 
California  inspires  in  the  uninitiate  already  held  her 
senses  in  fee ;  she  felt  as  one  might  who  had  miraculously 
found  the  way  to  cross  the  far  horizon  and  go  down  into 
the  magic  realms  of  true  romance. 

But  she  fell  asleep  that  night  to  dream  of  coursing  a 
will-o'-the-wisp  through  a  land  whose  painted  illusion 
failed  and  faded  as  she  fled,  till  in  the  end  there  was  no 
more  beauty,  nor  happiness  nor  hope,  but  only  the  bare 
grin  of  the  desert  savage  and  implacable. 

She  started  awake  with  her  husband's  name  trembling 
on  her  lips. 


XXI 

r  I  ^HE  room  the  Lontaines  occupied  in  the  Alexandria 
JL  adjoined  Lucinda's,  and  while  she  was  lazing  over 
breakfast  and  trying  to  find  her  way  about  in  newspapers 
whose  screaming  local  patriotism  made  one  feel  vaguely 
ashamed  of  having  been  born  elsewhere,  Fanny  tapped 
on  the  communicating  door  and  drifted  in,  en  neglige, 
with  a  cigarette  and  an  airy  nonchalance  oddly  at  war 
with  a  problematic  shadow  that  lurked  in  her  eyes. 

"My  amiable  first  husband,"  she  announced,  "has 
charged  me  to  arrange  for  an  audience  at  your  conveni- 
ence." 

"As  soon  as  you  like,"  Lucinda  laughed — "I  mean,  give 
me  time  to  crawl  into  some  clothes." 

"Sure  you  don't  mind  ? — and  the  day  so  immature !" 

"Not  a  bit.  In  fact,  I've  been  thinking,  if  we're  really 
going  through  with  this  lunatic  adventure,  the  less  time 
we  lose  the  better." 

"If !"  Fanny  caught  the  word  up  quickly.  "Does  that 
mean  you  want  to  reconsider  ?" 

"No,  dear ;  merely  that  I've  been  wondering,  ever  since 
I  woke  up,  whether  the  night  might  not  have  brought 
your  husband  perhaps  wiser  counsel." 

"So  much  depends  upon  what  you  mean  by  'wiser.' 
But  if  it's  a  change  of  heart,  I'm  in  a  position  to  assure 
you  nothing  like  that  has  happened  to  Harry." 

"I  only  meant — between  ourselves — I  can't  think  it 
quite  wise  of  him  to  risk  much  on  my  chances  of  making 
good  as  a  movie  star." 

Fanny  achieved  a  ladylike  snort  of  derision.  "Never 
worry  about  what  Harry  risks !  Besides,  I  won't  for  an 
158 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  159 

instant  admit  there's  any  chance  of  failure,  so  far  as 
you're  concerned,  Cindy.  But  I  will  admit  I'm  counting 
on  your  common-sense  to  hold  Harry  down  to  earth." 

"How  do  you  mean,  dear?" 

"Oh,  it  isn't  that  I  question  his  grasp  of  business  condi- 
tions and  fundamentals.  But  he's  got  such  an  active  mind, 
he  finds  it  hard  to  let  well  enough  alone,  he's  everlastingly 
embroidering  everything  he  takes  an  interest  in  with  the 
most  amazing  arabesques.  Let  him  run  wild,  and  by  night- 
fall he'll  have  the  motion-picture  industry  of  the  United 
States  pooled  under  one  Napoleonic  directing  head,  whose 
identity  I  leave  you  to  surmise — and  all  on  the  basis  of 
his  undertaking  to  shape  the  film  destinies  of  Linda  Lee. 
And  he'll  draw  diagrams  and  produce  figures  to  prove 
what  he  predicts  can't  fail  to  come  true,  he'll  even  name 
the  date  of  the  coming  millenium  in  the  Lontaine  for- 
tunes. So  somebody's  got  to  keep  a  check  on  the  accel- 
erator, and  I'm  incompetent,  I  don't  know  the  first  thing 
about  business,  and  I'm  looking  to  you." 

"Afraid  you're  leaning  on  a  broken  reed,  my  dear." 

"Don't  believe  it.  You're  so  wonderfully  level-headed 
about  things,  Cindy,  I  have  implicit  confidence  in  you. 
Now  this  morning  Harry  has  waked  up  with  his  poor 
dear  bean  more  than  usually  addled  with  gorgeous 
schemes,  and  says  he  wants  to  consult  you.  What  he 
really  wants  is  your  unconditional  approval  of  everything 
he  has  to  propose.  It's  only  fair  to  warn  you,  any  other 
attitude  will  prove  inacceptable  in  the  extreme.  That's 
what  Harry  calls  'talking  business.'  So  do  be  wise  as  well 
as  kind." 

"I'll  try,"  Lucinda  promised. 

Considered  in  the  light  of  this  semi-serious  warning,  all 
that  Lontaine  had  to  lay  before  her  seemed  almost  dis- 
appointingly conservative.  But  perhaps  he  was  more 
subtile  than  Fanny  knew.  Uncommonly  grave  and  intent 
when  he  presented  himself  for  the  conference,  in  busi- 
ness-like fashion  he  went  at  once  to  the  heart  of  things. 


160  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

"I've  been  thinking  it  over  all  night,"  he  assured  Lu- 
cinda  seriously,  as  she  and  Fanny  settled  to  give  him  atten- 
tion, "and  it  seems  to  me  I  ought  to  let  you  know  more 
specifically  what  you're  letting  yourself  in  for,  before  I 
ask  you  to  hold  yourself  pledged." 

"That  sounds  suspiciously  like  preparation  for  letting 
me  down  easily." 

"Please  don't  think  that."  There  was  a  convincing 
glint  of  alarm  in  Lontaine's  look.  "Never  more  enthu- 
siastic, more  sure  of  anything  than  I  am  of  your  eventual 
success.  But  it's  going  to  mean  hard  work  for  both  of 
us,  slavery  for  many  months,  and  hindrances  may  crop 
up  we  ought  to  be  prepared  against." 

"I  shan't  mind  hard  work,"  Lucinda  replied.  "In  fact, 
I  can't  think  of  anything  that  I'd  find  more  agreeable 
than  consciousness  of  at  least  trying  to  do  something 
worth  while  with  my  life.  As  for  disappointments,  I 
don't  expect  much,  so  I  can't  be  very  hard  hit  if  every- 
thing doesn't  turn  out  as  happily  as  one  might  wish." 

"If  that  spirit  won't  win  for  us,  nothing  will,"  Lon- 
taine  declared.  "Now  for  a  tentative  programme  .  .  . 
Our  first  step,  naturally,  will  be  to  incorporate.  And  since 
it  seems  to  be  the  fashion  on  this  side,  and  our  corporate 
name  will  serve  as  a  trade-mark,  I  venture  to  suggest 
'Linda  Lee  Inc.' " 

"One  name  is  as  good  as  another,  don't  you  think  ?" 

"Good.  Call  that  settled.  Then  as  to  finances.  Going 
on  my  own  judgment  and  observation,  I'm  all  for  a  small 
capitalization,  just  enough  to  give  us  working  capital 
with  a  fair  margin  to  insure  against  loss  of  time." 

"I  don't  think  I  understand." 

"Well,  it's  like  this :  My  study  of  American  studio  con- 
ditions has  satisfied  me  that  production  costs  this  side  are 
normally  excessive.  Of  course,  allowance  must  be  made 
for  exaggeration;  it  seems  to  be  a  custom  of  the  trade 
for  the  producer  to  multiply  several  times  his  actual  out- 
lay on  a  picture  and  broadside  the  result  as  if  dollars  made 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  161 

pictures  and  not  brains.  But  I  happen  to  know  the  aver- 
age cost  of  a  well-made  picture  today  is  between  eighty 
and  a  hundred  and  twenty  thousand — too  much  by  half." 

"Mr.  Gulp's  secretary  told  me  Alma  Daley's  pictures 
cost  between  a  hundred  and  fifty  and  two  hundred  thou- 
sand each." 

"If  so,  Ben  Gulp  is  throwing  money  away  through  ig- 
norance or  bad  management  or  indifference.  The  re- 
turns are  so  tremendous  from  a  really  good  picture,  or  al- 
most any  picture  with  a  popular  star,  nowadays,  the 
cinema  financier  can  count  on  getting  his  money  back  and 
as  much  more  in  the  first  year  of  a  picture's  life  and  still 
have  a  going  property,  one  that  will  bring  in  clear  profits 
for  a  couple  of  years  to  come.  So  he  isn't  much  inclined 
to  worry  about  costs.  Then  again,  in  the  big  organiza- 
tions, production  costs  are  inflated  by  heavy  overhead 
charges." 

"I  haven't  the  faintest  idea  what  that  means." 

"Overhead  means  a  proportionate  charge  against  each 
production  of  the  cost  of  maintaining  the  entire  organiza- 
tion, including  all  expenses,  many  of  which  have  nothing 
to  do  with  the  actual  making  of  pictures.  In  a  small  or- 
ganization, such  as  ours  will  be,  overhead  will  be  cut  to 
the  bone.  We  can  make  as  good  pictures  as  anybody  at 
an  average  cost  of  not  more  than  fifty  thousand  dollars ; 
with  care  and  ingenuity,  once  we  get  going,  we'll  be  able 
to  pare  that  down  considerably.  But  say  a  picture  does 
cost  fifty  thousand,  its  gross  earnings,  the  first  year, 
should  be  two-hundred  and  fifty  thousand.  Of  that  the 
producer  gets  sixty-five  per  cent.,  in  round  figures  a  hun- 
dred and  sixty-five  thousand.  We  ought  to  turn  out  not 
less  than  four  pictures  a  year,  which  will  mean  at  least 
four-hundred  and  fifty  thousand  clear  profit  to  be  split  up 
between  the  star,  the  executive,  and  the  capitalists." 

"It  sounds  like  a  fairy  tale." 

"It  is  a  fairy  tale — come  true  in  real  life.  Nothing  else 
could  account  for  the  present-day  tribe  of  motion-picture 


162  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

millionaires.  Some  of  them  have  a  certain  shrewdness, 
almost  all  have  business  cunning  of  a  low  order,  I  dare- 
say a  dogged  Diogenes  could  run  to  earth  one  or  two  who 
are  honest,  but  precious  few  of  them  are  men  of  either 
education,  taste,  artistic  instinct  or  appreciation." 

"But  how  could  such  men ?" 

"They  had  imagination  enough  to  see  cheap  amusement 
for  the  masses  in  what  most  intelligent  people,  a  dozen 
years  ago,  considered  merely  a  mechanical  curiosity.  So 
they  invested  their  small  savings,  these  fur-cutters  and 
petty  tradesmen  and  barnstorming  actors,  in  the  venture 
that  high  finance  scorned ;  and  the  boom,  when  it  came, 
found  them  securely  in  the  saddle.  That's  why  the  pub- 
lic gets  so  much  perfunctory  and  stupid  stuff  thrown  at 
it  today." 

"But  our  pictures  aren't  going  to  be  in  that  class — 
are  they?" 

"Rather  not !  We're  going  to  go  at  this  thing  in  an  intel- 
ligent way.  We'll  pick  a  good  staff,  select  our  stories  with 
care,  get  the  best  men  to  write  our  scenarios,  and  gather 
round  us  a  group  of  actors,  like  those  who  have  made  the 
Continental  cinema  what  it  is  today,  more  interested  in 
their  work  than  in  themselves,  willing  to  take  their  chances 
of  scoring  in  fine  ensemble  acting  instead  of  insistent  that 
every  story  shall  be  distorted,  every  scene  directed,  every 
picture  cut  to  throw  a  so-called  star  into  prominence.  Even 
in  America  such  sincere  actors  exist,  and  we'll  find  and 
bring  them  together  and  prove  that  cinema  production  can 
be  an  art  as  well  as  a  money-grubbing  scheme." 

"Bravo!  bravo!"  Fanny  interpolated.  "Hark  to  the 
dear  man !  Now  if  only  he'll  perform  one-half  as  bravely 
as  he  promises !" 

Lontaine  flushed  a  little  but  paid  no  other  heed.  "To 
get  back  to  the  question  of  capitalization.  .  .  .  Arbi- 
trarily setting  fifty  thousand  as  a  fair  production  cost, 
we'll  want  at  least  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  to  begin 
with." 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  163 

"But  surely  we  won't  need  a  hundred  thousand  margin 
for  safety?" 

"Not  for  safety — for  economy.  When  we  finish  our 
first  picture  it  will  be  a  matter  of  six  months  at  least  be- 
fore it  can  be  exhibited,  before,  that  is,  it  will  begin  to 
repay  its  cost.  Meantime,  we  can't  afford  either  to  disband 
our  company  or  hold  it  together  in  idleness.  We  ought 
to  start  our  second  picture  the  day  after  we  finish  the 
first.  Thus  we  will  waste  no  gestures.  And  allowing 
three  months  to  each,  we  should  have  our  second  and 
third  ready  by  the  time  the  first  is  released.  Do  you  fol- 
low me,  Mrs.  Druce?" 

"I  think  you're  quite  right.  You  said  yesterday  you 
had  some  people  ready  to  furnish  the  necessary  capital  ?" 

"In  half  an  hour  I  can  find  half  a  dozen  who'd 
jump  at  the  chance,"  Lontaine  replied  without  a  quiver. 
"They  don't  know  you,  of  course,  Mrs.  Druce,  I  mean 
they  don't  know  Linda  Lee  and  what  she's  capable  of,  and 
naturally  they  would  be  inclined  to  boggle  at  such  a  prop- 
osition coming  from  anybody  but  me.  But  they  do  know 
me,  they  have  faith  in  my  ideals  and  my  practical  knowl- 
edge of  the  business,  and  nothing  would  please  them  bet- 
ter than  to  see  their  money  at  work  in  my  hands.  The 
question  is :  Do  we  want  to  take  them  in  ?  Is  it  necessary  ? 
Is  it  good  business?" 

Lucinda  shook  her  head.  "I'm  sure  I  don't  know," 
she  said,  smiling.  "Please  be  patient  with  my  stupidity 
in  money  matters." 

"I  mean  to  say :  With  profits  of  approximately  half  a 
million  a  year  in  sight,  do  we  want  to  see  the  third  share 
that  would  ordinarily  go  to  capital  diverted  to  the  pockets 
of  people  who  have  no  interest  in  our  business  except  as 
a  source  of  revenue?" 

"Can  we  avoid  that  ?" 

"Simply  enough,  if  you  care  to  take  the  risk.  I'll  be 
frank  with  you  and  confess  I'm  not  financially  in  a  posi- 
tion to  invest  in  the  business  myself.  But  if  you  should 


164  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

decide  to  back  yourself,  use  your  own  money  to  finance 
Linda  Lee  Inc.  you  would  ultimately  receive  two- 
thirds  of  the  profits  instead  of  the  one  you'd  be  entitled  to 
as  the  star.  And  no  outsider  would  have  anything  to  say 
about  the  way  we  conduct  our  own  business." 

"I  don't  think  I  care  about  that,"  Lucinda  observed 
thoughtfully.  "But  it  does  appeal  to  me,  the  idea  that  if 
I  use  my  own  money  nobody  but  myself  can  suffer  if  we're 
making  a  mistake." 

"Then — you  will  find  the  capital  yourself,  Mrs. 
Druce?" 

"I  think  I  can  manage  it  without  too  much  trouble." 

Lontaine  sighed  quietly  and  relaxed.  The  contented 
glow  of  last  night  crept  back  into  his  eyes.  He  produced 
his  cigarette-case,  and  began  to  smoke  in  luxurious  puffs. 

"Need  there  be  any  trouble?" 

"I'm  only  wondering  what  Harford  Willis  will  say." 
Lucinda  laughed  quietly.  She  could  imagine  the  horror 
that  would  overspread  the  carven  countenance  of  the 
gentleman  of  the  old  school  when  he  learned  that  she 
(meant  to  add  the  unpardonable  solecism  of  play-acting 
to  the  heinous  but  after  all  fashionable  estate  of  divorcee. 
"An  old  friend  of  my  father's  who  looks  after  my  estate," 
she  explained  to  Lontaine's  echo  of  the  name.  "He 
thinks  I've  disgraced  myself  as  it  is.  When  I  tell  him 
what  more  I  mean  to  do,  I'm  sure  he'll  think  I'm  damned 
beyond  redemption — socially,  at  all  events." 

"Need  he  know?" 

"I'm  afraid  so.  I  don't  believe  I've  got  a  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  dollars  on  deposit  altogether.  You  see, 
most  of  my  income  is  reinvested  promptly  as  it  comes  in, 
leaving  only  enough  to  meet  my  usual,  everyday  ex- 
penses." 

"Surely  you  can  fob  him  off  with  some  excuse,  Mrs. 
Druce."  Lontaine  was  frowning  at  the  carpet.  "Of 
course,  you  understand,  I'm  only  thinking  of  your  peace 
of  mind." 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  165 

"I'll  think  it  over.  But  whether  he  likes  it  or  not,  we'll 
go  ahead  as  we've  planned.  And  as  for  money  to  get 
started  with,  I'm  sure  I  can  put  something  over  fifty 
thousand  at  your  command." 

"Famous !"  Lontaine's  brow  cleared  instantly.  "I 
may  call  on  you  for  a  cheque  in  a  day  or  two,  for  pre- 
liminary expenses,  a  retainer  for  our  lawyers,  incorpora- 
tion fees,  and  the  like,  you  know." 

"That  brings  up  a  question  that  bothers  me,"  Lucinda 
confessed.  "You  see,  my  cheques  will  be  signed  Lu- 
cinda Druce,  and  I  don't  like  to  risk  my  incognita  as 
Linda  Lee.  I  don't  want  Bellamy  to  find  out  where  I  am 
— and  I  don't  want  anybody  else  to  know  but  the  three 
of  us — and  Mr.  Summerlad,  I'd  almost  forgotten  he  knew 
— unless  I  really  do  succeed." 

"Nothing  to  fret  about,"  Lontaine  declared.  "Simply 
make  your  cheques  payable  to  me.  I'll  open  an  account 
with  a  local  bank  in  my  name  first,  and  transfer  it  to  the 
account  of  Linda  Lee  Inc.  as  soon  as  we  incorporate." 


XXII 

LUCINDA  at  about  this  time  began  to  know  imitations 
of  a  psychic  phenomenon  working  within  herself  for 
which  she  could  find  no  better  name  than  that  of  multiple 
personality.  She  was  well  aware  that  she  didn't  mean  by 
this  precisely  what  the  term  would  have  connoted  to  the 
mind  of  a  psychoanalyst,  but  it  was  as  near  as  she  was  able 
to  come  to  a  description  of  the  disconcerting  perform- 
ances of  the  several  Lucindas  who  seemed  to  tenant  her 
by  turns  and  be  forever  warring  for  the  right  to  rule  her 
daily  actions  and  form  her  final  destiny. 

Figuring  her  soul  in  the  likeness  of  a  ship  at  sea,  her 
sensations  much  resembled  those  which  might  conceivably 
inform  a  passenger  watching  half  a  dozen  captains  who 
were  continually  elbowing  one  another  aside  and  taking 
command  and  steering  each  a  quite  new  course  of  individ- 
ual preference;  with  the  inevitable  result  that  a  chart  of 
any  one  day's  run  must  have  closely  counterfeited  the 
trackings  of  a  fly  that  had  crawled  out  of  an  ink-pot  upon 
a  fair  white  sheet  of  paper. 

Most  puzzling  circumstance  of  all,  the  one  true  captain 
seemed  to  be  standing  apart  throughout  and  observing  the 
antics  of  these  upstart  understudies  with  considerable  in- 
terest, not  a  little  wonder,  and  some  alarm. 

Certain  it  was  that  she  had  ceased  to  be  the  single-mind- 
ed and  straightforward  young  woman  she  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  think  herself,  a  creature  moulded  in  an  uncom- 
promising cliche  of  caste  and  moving  through  life  upon 
lines  definitely  laid  down,  thinking  only  the  thoughts,  ut- 
tering only  the  formulae,  describing  only  the  motions,  ex- 
166 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  167 

periencing  only  the  sentiments  and  sensations  considered 
suitable  to  one  of  her  condition. 

One  act  of  mutiny  had  made  an  end  to  that  one's  reign 
and  left  an  empty  throne  to  be  contested  by  this  odd  crew 
of  usurpers,  who  were  so  many  and  so  various,  and  in 
general  so  vaguely  denned,  that  they  defied  cataloguing; 
though  a  few  there  were  who  by  virtue  of  pronounced 
idiosyncrasy  came  to  be  recognized  familiars. 

There  was  one  clear  of  vision,  unillusioned  even  unto 
cynicism,  but  honourable,  straight-spoken  and  fair-deal- 
ing, at  once  proud  and  unpretending,  who  was  mostly  in 
evidence  in  her  hours  of  social  life  with  the  Lontaines,  as 
distinguished  from  the  time  she  spent  with  them  in  the  way 
of  business.  This  was  Mrs.  Bellamy  Druce  of  her  equiv- 
ocal phase,  who  had  ceased  to  be  a  wife  and  had  yet  to 
become  unwedded:  a  woman  worldly-wise  and  a  trifle 
weary,  but  warm  of  heart,  tolerant,  and  companionable. 

Then  there  was  Linda  Lee,  the  rather  excited  and  ambi- 
tious young  thing  who  was  all  the  while  flying  hither  and 
yon  in  motor-cars,  making  curious  acquaintances  by  the 
score,  simulating  an  intelligent  interest  in  affairs,  legal 
matters,  comparative  merits  of  different  studio  accommo- 
dations, cost  of  equipment,  salaries  of  employees,  all 
those  questions  upon  which  Lontaine  did  her  the  honour 
of  consulting  her,  knowing  full  well  that  she  was  fully 
satisfied  as  to  his  competence  and  incredulous  of  hef 
own,  and  would  faithfully  endorse  any  course  he  might 
take  or  recommend.  The  first  function  of  Miss  Lee's 
office  in  the  scheme  was  apparently  that  of  drawing 
cheques.  She  led  a  busy  life.  ...  It  was  also  any- 
thing  but  an  uninteresting  one,  though  Miss  Lee  often 
wondered  what  it  was  all  about  and  how  she  had  come 
to  be  in  it  and  sometimes  felt  that  she  was  no  better  than 
a  poor  impostor  and  doomed  in  due  course  to  be  disgrace- 
fully shown  up. 

Another  was  a  rare,  shy  visitant,  never  viewed  by  mor- 
tal eyes,  who  held  dominion  only  in  the  dead  hours  of 


168  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

these  nights  when  Lucinda  lay  wakeful  and  lonely,  feel- 
ing lost  without  that  which  for  so  long  had  seemed  an  es- 
sential part  of  life,  Bel's  love  and  the  dearness  of  him. 
A  pathetic  spirit,  prone  to  tears  and  sighs  and  bitter  self- 
reproachings.  But  when  morning  came,  this  one  had  al- 
ways retreated  to  the  outermost  marches  of  memory, 
where  she  lingered,  looking  back  a  little  wistfully,  a  timid 
wraith  with  pleading  eyes,  tenuous  and  evanescent  as  the 
souvenir  of  some  caress  long  perished. 

Again  one  was  aware  of  a  Lucinda  who,  abhorring  the 
vacuum  of  empty  hours,  committed  the  maddest  extrav- 
agance and  fairly  ran  amok  in  shops,  buying  right  and 
left  with  a  recklessness  that  soon  made  her  unawares  the 
axis  of  a  gale  of  whispers ;  in  this  manner  dissipating  a 
minor  fortune  before  her  first  month  in  Los  Angeles  had 
run  out. 

Lamentably  there  was  a  Lucinda  who  did  not  scruple 
to  resort  to  the  shabbiest  shifts  to  compass  her  ends; 
who,  for  example,  without  one  qualm  of  conscience  wrote 
to  Harford  Willis  that,  having  been  influenced  to  delay- 
proceeding  to  Reno,  she  had  fallen  under  the  spell  of 
Southern  California,  thought  seriously  of  making  it  her 
future  home,  and  would  be  glad  if  he  would  turn  her  cer- 
tain investments  into  ready  cash  against  the  contingency 
of  her  deciding  to  purchase  some  princely  property. 

Last  of  all  the  major  company  of  these  lately  appre- 
hended Lucindas  was  the  woman  emotionally  malcontent, 
newly  fallen  out  of  love  but  none  the  less  still  in  love 
with  love,  who  with  eyes  now  amused,  now  indulgent, 
now  shocked  or  startled,  saw  herself  slowly  and  reluct- 
antly but  surely  weakening  to  the  wooing  of  Lynn  Sum- 
merlad. 

In  a  way  the  thing  seemed  fated.  She  knew  nobody 
else,  aside  from  the  Lontaines.  She  was  meeting  people 
daily,  of  course,  but  not  on  terms  to  warrant  any  but  the 
most  commonplace  civilities :  men  of  affairs  who  reason- 
ably reckoned  her  a  pretty  nonentity  and  concentrated  on 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  169 

Lontaine  as  the  person  with  money  to  spend;  now  and 
again  some  minor  celebrity  of  the  cinema  colony,  who,  if 
male,  would  find  some  means  to  let  her  know  she  wouldn't 
be  too  ill  treated  should  she  succumb,  or  if  female,  would 
both  envy  and  resent  her  inimitable  chic,  and  at  the  same 
time  put  her  in  a  place  as  a  mere  amateur  who  musn't  ex- 
pect too  much. 

When  she  came  to  look  back  at  those  days,  Lucinda 
saw  herself  as  one  always  on  the  go  with  the  Lontaines 
and  Summerlad  in  his  spectacular  motor-car:  pelting 
headlong  for  some  objective  leagues  away,  Riverside  for 
luncheon  at  the  Mission  Inn,  San  Diego  for  a  week-end, 
Santa  Barbara  for  the  drive  along  the  magnificent  Coastal 
Highway,  or  any  other  of  two-score  remote  play-grounds ; 
going  out  of  an  evening  to  one  of  the  local  restaurants, 
Victor  Hugo's  for  its  good  food  and  urbane  service, 
Marcelle's  for  dancing  and  its  dumbfoundering  scheme  of 
decorations,  Sunset  Inn  for  the  lark  of  it  and  the  people 
one  saw,  the  Ship  for  its  wild  traditions,  or  to  some  lost 
place  in  the  labyrinth  of  strange  streets  below  South  Main, 
to  which  Summerlad  alone  knew  the  way,  where  one 
might  get  food  purely  exotic  in  character,  Spanish,  Chi- 
nese, Japanese;  or  (and  this  was  part  of  the  programme 
of  nearly  every  night)  braving  the  bill-of-fare  at  one  or 
another  of  the  city  theatres  or  their  arrogant  rivals,  the 
sumptuous  cinemas. 

In  the  course  of  that  first  month  Lucinda  sat  through 
more  photoplays  than  she  had  ever  seen  before,  interested 
even  when,  as  all  too  often,  they  were  overweeningly  am- 
bitious of  intention  and  sorry  in  execution;  determined 
to  read  their  riddle  and  learn  what  Summerlad  and  Lon- 
taine were  talking  about  when  they  argued  in  the  jargon 
of  the  studios.  .  .  .  But  it  was  really  the  audiences 
that  thronged  these  thundering  temples  of  the  silent 
drama  that  fascinated  her,  audiences  of  a  texture  inex- 
plicably strange  to  Eastern  eyes,  like  the  street  crowds 
from  which  they  were  drawn,  so  dense  and  constant  that 


170  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

one  was  tempted  to  believe  the  people  of  Los  Angeles 
never  went  home  except  to  sleep. 

Such  torrents  of  motor  vehicles  brawled  through  the 
city  channels,  the  only  wonder  was  that  anybody  ever 
walked.  Yet  it  was  seldom  Lucinda's  fortune  to  view  the 
sidewalks  in  the  heart  of  town  when  they  were  not  a- 
swarm  with  moving  masses  of  the  most  heterogeneous 
composition,  shuffling,  staring,  oddly  taciturn. 

The  great  body  of  these  seemed  to  be  sober-sided  souls 
in  steady  circumstances;  a  bourgeoisie  smug  and  semi- 
shabby,  ignorant  of  its  past,  heedless  of  its  future,  largely 
unconcerned  with  its  present;  self-dedicated  to  existences 
as  uninteresting  and  useful  as  a  cow's.  Summerlad 
cursed  it  with  a  local  aphorism  to  the  sense  that  Los  An- 
geles was  governed  by  small-town  people  from  the  Middle 
West  who  had  come  to  California  each  with  one  lung  and 
one  dollar  and  a  grim  determination  to  hang  onto  both 
to  the  bitter  end. 

Infiltrating  this  primary  element  was  one  alien  to  it 
but  comprehending  also  figures  that  might  have  served 
for  a  pageant  of  North  American  history,  figures  many  of 
them  like  old  wood-cuts  brought  to  life;  red  Indians, 
Down  East  Yankees,  Mexicans,  gaunt  hillsmen  from  Ken- 
tucky and  Tennessee,  towering  Texans,  ranchmen  from 
the  plains,  and  folk  in  whose  eyes  shone  the  brooding  ab- 
straction of  the  desert ;  in  the  main  ill-clothed  and  uncouth 
of  gesture,  hiding  behind  apathetic  masks  a  certain  awe 
and  sense  of  awkwardness. 

And  then,  like  spume  wind-torn  from  the  crests  of 
sullen  seas,  glittering  with  rainbow  iridescence,  a  froth 
of  creatures  money-drunk  and  amusement-mad,  drones 
lured  to  California  by  its  fabled  Winter  climate,  and  an 
earth-born  army  audaciously  experimenting  with  wings 
bestowed  by  the  careless  bounty  of  the  cinema. 

Against  this  picture  of  a  ceaseless  crush  in  the  centre  of 
the  city,  Lucinda  set  in  contrast  so  sharp  that  it  never  lost 
its  power  to  stir  her  wonder,  a  picture  on  every  hand  re- 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  171 

peated  off  the  main  arteries  of  traffic  in  the  radiating  resi- 
dential suburbs:  an  interminable  street  of  broad-eaved 
white  bungalows  hugging  the  ground,  each  isolate  in  its 
unfenced  plot  of  green,  to  each  its  vines,  its  flower  beds, 
its  stripling  orange  trees,  and  each  and  every  one  silent 
and  in  all  seeming  lifeless,  cowering  in  the  day-long  glare 
of  that  vast  and  empty  vault  of  blue,  like  a  city  of  doll- 
houses  which  the  children  had  outgrown  .  .  . 


XXIII 

THE  incorporators  of  Linda  Lee  Inc.  were  not, 
however,  long  left  dependent  on  motor-cars  that 
plied  for  hire  and  the  orange-and-black  outrage  on  wheels 
which  was  everywhere  known  as  "Lynn  Summerlad's 
bus." 

One  of  Lontaine's  first  acts  as  president  of  the  fledg- 
ling organization  was  to  pay  out  ten  thousand  dollars  of 
its  capital  for  a  startling  blue-and-silver  car,  the  whim 
of  an  absent-minded  motion-picture  star  whose  sudden 
flitting  from  threats  of  arrest  on  charges  of  bigamy  had 
left  the  car  on  the  hands  of  its  builders,  to  be  picked  up 
at  what  Lontaine  called  a  bargain  price.  Lucinda  was 
disposed  to  hold  the  cost  immaterial,  but  demurred  about 
accepting  it  for  her  personal  use;  and  the  consideration 
urged  by  Summerlad,  that  the  more  eye-arresting  the 
colour  scheme  the  better  the  advertisement  for  Linda  Lee, 
failed  to  move  her.  So  Lontaine  felt  constrained  to  use 
it  himself;  and  Fanny  demurely  professed  resignation, 
pointing  out  that  in  such  a  conveyance  no  husband  would 
ever  dare  pursue  any  but  paths  of  conspicuous  rectitude. 

For  herself  Lucinda  eventually  selected  a  modest  lan- 
daulet  of  dark  maroon;  but  it  saw  little  service,  save  on 
shopping  trips,  till  she  began  to  use  it  for  daily  trans- 
portation to  and  from  the  studio. 

Weeks  slipped  stealthily  away,  the  rainy  season  waned, 
a  Spring  ensued  like  an  Eastern  Summer,  with  lusty  vege- 
tation, lengthening  days  of  dry  heat,  and  nights  deliciously 
cooled  by  airs  that  swept  through  every  sunless  hour  from 
the  highlands  to  the  sea ;  while  delays  on  delays  accumu- 
172 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  17S 

lated  and  still  the  day  when  "shooting"  should  begin  lin- 
gered remotely  down  tomorrow's  dim  horizon. 

Lontaine  had  leased  studio  space  in  the  Zinn  plant, 
which  Summerlad  recommended  as  the  most  modern  and 
completely  equipped  on  the  Coast.  For  this  the  company 
was  paying  a  weekly  rental  of  fifteen  hundred  dollars.  An 
expensive  executive  and  technical  staff,  lacking  only  a 
director,  was  kicking  heels  of  enforced  idleness  on  full 
pay.  A  story  had  been  selected,  an  old  novel  by  a  mod- 
erately popular  author  to  which  Zinn  had  in  1914  pur- 
chased all  motion-picture  rights  outright  for  five  hundred 
dollars  and  which  he  was  now  willing  to  part  with  for  ten 
thousand  as  a  special  courtesy  because  he  had  taken  such 
a  mad  fancy  to  Lontaine.  A  scenario  writer,  warranted 
by  Zinn  "the  best  in  the  business,"  had  received  five 
thousand  for  casting  the  story  into  continuity  form,  the 
labour  of  one  whole  week,  and  retired  rejoicing  to  his  hun- 
dred-and-fifty  a  week  job  in  the  Zinn  scenario  depart- 
ment. A  reading  of  his  bastard  brain-child  had  persua- 
ded Lucinda  that  continuity  writing  must  be  the  mystery 
its  adepts  alleged;  in  fact,  she  couldn't  understand  the 
greater  part  of  it,  and  what  she  did  understand  somewhat 
preyed  upon  her  mind.  But  Lontaine  seemed  satisfied, 
Summerlad  solaced  her  misgivings  with  the  assurance 
that  P.  Potter  Monahan  simply  couldn't  write  a  poor  con- 
tinuity, and  both  agreed  that  Barry  Nolan  would  know 
what  to  do  to  make  it  right  when  he  got  down  to  work 
on  it. 

Incidentally,  he  did:  Nolan  read  it  half -through, 
thoughtfully  shied  the  manuscript  out  of  a  window,  and- 
dictated  a  continuity  all  his  own,  of  which  nobody  but 
himself  could  make  head  or  tail,  and  which  at  times  in 
the  course  of  its  production  seemed  to  puzzle  even  its 
perpetrator.  But  this  Nolan  was  a  resourceful  lad  and 
never  hesitated  to  revise  himself  when  at  a  loss:  "That's 
out,"  he  would  inform  his  assistant;  "we'll  cover  up  the 
break  with  a  subtitle.  C'mon,  let's  shoot  the  close-ups ;" 


174  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

or  it  might  be :  "Got  another  angle  on  that  now.  Instead 
of  that  scene  where  she  casts  him  out  of  her  life  forever, 
I'm  going  to  stick  in  some  business  Leslie  Carter  used  to 
do  in  the  last  act  of  Zaza.  We'll  get  round  to  that  later. 
What's  next  ?" 

But  these  revelations  of  an  unique  technique,  justly  cel- 
ebrated as  such,  were  reserved  for  the  indefinite  future. 
Notwithstanding  that  he  was  under  contract  to  Linda  Lee 
Inc.  to  begin  work  as  soon  as  he  had  finished  the  pro- 
duction he  was  then  making,  Lucinda  was  to  be  hounded 
through  her  professional  debut  by  another  megaphone 
than  Barry  Nolan's. 

In  the  engagement  of  that  one  resided  the  only  reason 
for  the  delays.  While  negotiations  for  his  services  (at 
twice  as  much  pay  as  he  had  ever  received  before) 
were  in  progress,  Nolan  confidently  expected  to  be  free 
in  a  fortnight.  The  day  he  signed  the  contract  he  admitted 
that  he  might  possibly  keep  them  waiting  a  trifle  longer.  It 
was  two  months  later  when  he  at  length  notified  Lontaine 
that  he  was  running  up  to  San  Francisco  for  a  few  days' 
rest  and  relaxation  but  would  positively  be  "on  the  lot" 
and  ready  to  go  to  work,  in  another  week. 

In  the  meantime  Lucinda  had  moved  to  the  Hollywood 
Hotel,  the  Lontaines  to  a  furnished  bungalow  nearby, 
where  they  vainly  pressed  her  to  join  them.  She  thought 
it  wiser  to  decline. 

"I'm  far  too  fond  of  both  of  you  to  risk  living  with 
you,"  she  explained.  "It's  no  good  deliberately  placing 
ourselves  in  a  position  to  get  fed  to  the  teeth  with  one 
another.  Besides,  I've  got  to  get  accustomed  to  shifting 
for  myself,  and  it's  high  time  I  was  learning  to  breathe 
in  a  proper  motion-picture  atmosphere." 

This  the  Hollywood  provided  to  admiration.  Summer- 
lad  assured  Lucinda,  and  on  her  own  observation  she 
could  well  believe,  that  at  one  stage  or  another  of  their 
careers  almost  every  motion-picture  player  of  consequence 
in  the  country  must  have  registered  at  this  hotel.  Many 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  176 

continued  to  reside  there,  though  no  reason  existed  why 
they  should  not  observe  the  custom  of  other  happy  holders 
of  long-term  contracts  and  move  into  homes  of  their  own. 
Aside  from  such  fixtures — and  a  non-professional  element 
composed  mainly  of  middle-aged  folk  with  set  incomes 
who  had  contracted  the  habit  of  spending  their  Winters 
and  not  much  else  in  California — the  hotel  boasted  a  rest- 
less movement  of  birds  of  passage :  stars  of  the  legitimate 
stage  brought  on  from  New  York  to  play  in  a  single  pic- 
ture, lesser  lights  coming  West  at  their  own  risk  to  solicit 
a  "try-out;"  playwrights  and  novelists  with  reputations 
in  two  continents  declining  to  profit  by  the  experience  of 
innumerable  predecessors,  fatuously  assuming  that  imag- 
ination, intelligence  and  honest  workmanship  had  a  dog's 
chance  in  the  studios;  directors  enjoying  their  favorite 
pastime  of  hopping  from  Coast  to  Coast  with  everything 
paid ;  overlords  of  the  cinema  visiting  the  West  Coast  to 
look  after  their  own  or  their  rivals'  fences  and  filch  actors 
and  directors  from  one  another.  These  came  and  went 
by  every  trans-continental  train.  Remained  the  incurable 
addicts  with  yet  another  element,  hardly  less  habitue  but 
humbler,  maintaining  precarious  residence  in  the  hotel  on 
meagre  means,  on  remittances  from  home  or  God  knew 
how  (and,  knowing,  wept)  hanging  on  desperately  to  hope 
of  happier  tomorrows,  when  they,  too,  would  have  their 
own  cars  call  to  take  them  to  their  daily  toil,  instead  of 
trudging  or  trolleying  from  studio  to  studio  in  pursuit 
of  the  elusive  day's  work  as  an  extra:  a  class  largely 
feminine  and  insistently  youthful. 

With  most  of  these  Lucinda  became  acquainted  by 
sight,  with  many  she  grew  accustomed  to  exchange  smiles 
and  the  time  of  day.  They  were  a  friendly  lot,  indomit- 
ably cheerful  and  brisk.  If  sheer  joy  of  living  didn't 
keep  their  eyes  bright,  belladonna  did ;  their  hand-painted 
smiles  were  unfailing;  their  slender,  silken  legs  twinkled 
in  vivacious  by-play  on  veranda  steps  and  in  the  public 
rooms ;  by  every  sign  they  were  ever  on  the  wing  and  jolly 


176  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

glad.  Lucinda  liked  them  all  involuntarily,  and  wished 
them  well;  and  when  she  came  to  know  some  of  them 
better  her  heart  ached  for  them. 

This  was  inevitable.  The  most  glacial  reserve  must 
have  melted  to  the  warmth  of  such  gayly  casual  overtures. 
It  was  good  business  to  know  Miss  Linda  Lee,  and  they 
made  it  their  business  without  undue  delay.  She  had  not 
been  twenty-four  hours  a  sister-guest  before  all  these 
young  things  knew  an  astonishing  lot  about  her  that  wasn't 
so,  and  a  deal  that  was. 

Lucinda  was  a  raw  tenderfoot  who  was  going  to  finance 
her  own  company,  a  prominent  stage  favorite  trying  her 
luck  under  an  assumed  name,  a  Baltimore  society  beauty 
with  the  motion-picture  bee  in  her  bonnet,  nobody  at  all 
except  the  dear  friend  of  this  or  that  nationally  known 
man,  who  was  paying  to  put  her  into  pictures  to  get  rid 
of  her.  It  didn't  matter  who  or  what  she  was,  more  than 
what  was  irrefutably  established :  that  she  was  Linda  Lee, 
she  had  simply  sloughs  of  coin,  she  was  to  star  in  her  own 
productions,  Barry  Nolan  had  been  engaged  to  direct  her, 
Lynn  Summerlad  had  gone  nutty  about  her ;  all  of  which 
summed  up  to  this,  that  Lucinda  was  in  a  position  to  utter 
words  of  power  whose  fruit  might  be  days  and  days  of 
work  at  ten  or  fifteen  per — who  knew? — perhaps  the  mir- 
acle of  a  steady  job! 

They  made  up  to  her  saucily  or  shyly,  according  to  the 
style  they  believed  became  them  best,  with  assurance  or 
with  humility,  with  ostensible  indifference,  and  some  in 
open  desperation.  But  on  one  point  they  were  all  agreed : 
they  wanted  work.  Lucinda  spoke  about  two  or  three 
of  them  to  Lontaine,  who  laughed  and  advised  her  to 
recommend  them  to  Barry  Nolan's  assistant,  when  that  far 
day  dawned  on  which  the  question  of  casting  subordinate 
roles  would  be  in  order.  She  spoke  to  Lynn  Summerlad, 
and  was  rewarded  with  a  worried  frown,  the  first  sign  of 
care  she  had  ever  detected  in  him,  together  with  some  well- 
chosen  thoughts  on  the  dangers  of  contracting  haphazard 


LINDA  LEE    INC.  177 

hotel  acquaintanceships.  Lucinda  explained  that  she 
hadn't  sought  them,  they  had  been  practically  forced  upon 
her;  she  could  see  no  merit  in  being  rude  and  "upstage." 
Summerlad  retorted  darkly  that  one  never  could  tell ;  the 
motion-picture  colony  harboured  any  number  of  queer 
birds ;  it  wouldn't  do  for  her  of  all  women  to  pick  up  with 
a  wrong  one. 

"First  thing  you  know,  they'll  be  trying  to  borrow; 
money  from  you." 

Lucinda  was  silent  for  want  of  a  conscience  that  would 
sanction  an  indignant  rejoinder. 

"I  was  afraid  of  this  when  you  moved  into  the  hotel. 
But  then  I  told  myself  not  to  be  a  fool,  you  weren't  the 
sort  to  encourage  total  strangers." 

With  malice,  Lucinda  enquired  absurdly:  "Are  you 
reproaching  me  with  relaxing  from  the  conventions  of 
my  former  milieu,  Mr.  Summerlad?" 

"You  know  very  well  what  I  mean,  Linda." 

"You  think,  perhaps,  I'm  growing  to  be  a  shade  too  free 
and  easy?" 

"If  you  must  know,  I  do." 

"But  this  is,  after  all,  Hollywood." 

"No  excuse  for  doing  as  the  Hollywoodenheads  do." 

"Then,  I  take  it,  you  think  it  might  be  more  discreet  of 
me  to  stop  going  about  with  you  alone." 

Since  the  same  roof  no  longer  sheltered  them,  the  Lon- 
taines  had  ceased  invariably  to  include  Lucinda  in  their 
plans  and  gaddings,  as  when  social  courtesies  were 
extended  them  by  people  whom  Lontaine  met  in  the  way 
of  business  and  to  whom  Lucinda  was  not  known  at  all. 
So  she  was  enjoying  some  little  time  to  herself,  when 
Summerlad's  attentions  permitted ;  and  when  they  didn't, 
felt  free  to  follow  her  inclination  and  dispense  with  chap- 
eronage  on  occasion,  irrespective  of  the  looks  of  the  thing. 
(If  anything  could  be  held  to  have  any  particular  "looks" 
where  principles  of  laissez-faire  and  assiduous  attention 
to  one's  own  concerns  were  so  generally  vogue.)  Linda 


178  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

Lee,  furthermore,  could  do  as  she  pleased  when  her  pleas- 
ure must  have  been  taboo  to  Mrs.  Bellamy  Druce. 

"O  Lord!"  Summerlad  groaned.  "I  might've  known 
better  than  to  start  an  argument  with  a  woman." 

"I  don't  relish  being  reproached  by  you  for  lack  of 
decorum." 

"Decorum !  I'm  only  anxious  you  shan't  get  in  with  the 
wrong  sort,  be  victimized  or  worse." 

"Touching  thoughtfulness  on  my  behalf  .  .  .  But 
Lynn :  what  do  you  mean  by  'worse'  ?" 

"Not  sure  I  know,  myself.  I  don't  want  anything  to 
happen  to  worry  you." 

"What  could?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  If  I  did,  I  could  take  measures  to 
prevent  its  happening.  But  not  so  long  as  you  insist  on 
living  here.  A  hotel's  no  place  for  a  woman  alone.  People 
all  the  time  coming  and  going  .  .  .  Who  knows  who 
and  what  they  are?  You  might  be  recognized." 

"So  that's  what's  on  your  mind  ?" 

"I  don't  like  to  think  of  any  outside  influences  working 
on  you  just  now." 

"Just  now?" 

"Distracting  your  attention  from  really  important  mat- 
ters, like  me  and  what  you're  going  to  do  about  me.  I'm 
so  desperately  in  love  with  you,  Linda." 

Lucinda  said  nothing  for  a  little.  She  had  been  expect- 
ing this  for  days.  Now  that  it  came  it  found  her,  of 
course,  unprepared.  Nothing  to  complain  of  in  that;  a 
declaration  of  love  always  finds  a  woman  unprepared,  no 
matter  how  long  she  may  have  been  preparing  for  it.  The 
primitive  instinct  of  flight  from  the  male  is  deathless, 
though  it  manifest  only  as  in  that  one  brief  moment  of 
panic  that  Lucinda  knew. 

She  was  glad  of  the  darkness  of  that  section  of  the 
hotel  veranda  where  they  had  been  sitting  for  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  after  returning  from  diner  a  deux  in  the  city. 
It  had  seemed  early  to  part,  as  people  interested  in  each 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  179 

other  reckon  the  age  of  an  evening  together — not  much 
after  ten — and  since  no  one  was  visible  on  the  veranda, 
Lucinda  had  suggested  that  Summerlad  stop  and  chat  a 
while.  Now  she  wished  she  hadn't. 

Not  that  it  made  much  difference.  This  had  been  bound 
to  come  before  long.  One  knew  the  signs  in  a  man  who 
had  held  his  peace  about  as  long  as  he  could.  Five 
weeks  since  that  night  when,  in  the  Beverly  Hills  bunga- 
low, she  had  concluded  that  Summerlad's  interest  in  her 
was  neither  impersonal  nor  of  a  transitory  nature  .  .  . 

An  amazingly  long  time  for  him  to  wait,  had  she  but 
known,  a  tribute  to  the  sincerity  of  the  passion  she  had 
inspired,  to  the  respect  in  which  he  held  her  whose  train- 
ing had  not  been  such  as  to  encourage  much  respect  for 
women  in  general.  Almost  anybody  in  Hollywood  would 
have  told  her  that  Lynn  Summerlad  was  "a  fast  worker." 
That  no  one  had  done  so  was  probably  due  in  most  part 
to  an  impression  that  to  carry  such  information  were  work 
of  supererogation  .  .  . 

The  worst  of  it  was,  she  was  glad. 

How  strange  (and  what  proof  of  her  heart's  unique 
intricacy!)  that  she  should  be  affected  by  such  paradox- 
ical displeasure  in  the  pleasure  it  gave  her  to  hear  Lynn 
profess  a  passion  of  which  she  had  been  so  long  and  well 
aware;  as  if  it  grated  upon  some  slumbering  sense  of 
what  was  fitting ;  as  if  any  reason  today  existed  why  Lynn 
shouldn't  be  in  love  with  her  and,  for  the  matter  of  that, 
she  with  him  (only,  of  course,  she  wasn't)  or  why  he  need 
hesitate  to  speak  and  she  be  loath  to  listen  .  .  . 

"Well,  Linda?" 

She  put  away  her  pensiveness,  smiling  softly  in  the 
darkness  that  enfolded  them,  smiling  to  see  Summerlad 
bending  forward  in  his  chair,  whose  arm  just  failed  to 
touch  the  arm  of  hers,  anxiously  searching  her  face  for  a 
clue  to  her  mind,  but  with  the  anxiety  of  impatience  more 
than  the  anxiety  of  doubt.  He  wanted  to  have  her  in  his 


180  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

arms.  A  pleasant  place  to  be,  perhaps;  but  she  wasn't 
ready  yet,  she  was  not  yet  sure  .  .  . 

"Well,  my  friend !"  she  said  in  amused  indulgence — 
"so  it  seems  you  love  me." 

"How  long  have  you  known  it?" 

"Quite  as  long  as  you  have  loved  me." 

"And  you ?" 

"I  don't  know  yet." 

He  ventured  too  confidently:  "I  don't  want  to  hurry 
you " 

"You  couldn't,  Lynn.  And — you  won't  be  wise  if  you 
count  on  me." 

"You  don't  mind  my  loving  you,  Linda  ?" 

"No.    I  think  it  makes  me  happy." 

"Then  I'm  going  to  count  on  you — unless  you  want  me 
to  think  you're  merely  amusing  yourself." 

"But  you  don't  think  that.    So  be  patient." 

"I'm  not  at  all  sure  patience  and  love  are  even  re- 
lated." 

"Then  I'm  afraid  the  only  kind  of  love  you  know  is 
not  the  kind  that  lasts." 

"If  so,  I'm  glad  I've  known  none  that  lasted ;  that  leaves 
me  free  to  be  truly  in  love  with  you." 

"That's  rather  clever  of  you,  Lynn,  almost  too  clever." 

"I've  got  to  be  clever,  I  guess,  to  make  you  love  me." 

"Lynn,  I'm  afraid  you're  artful.  Yes — and  much  too 
experienced!  You'd  better  go  now  before  you  talk  me 
into  something  that  isn't  real  and  ...  If  you  do  love 
me,  you  aren't  wanting  anything  else." 

"You'd  really  like  to  get  rid  of  me?" 

"For  tonight,  yes.  I  need  to  be  alone  to  think — about 
you." 

"Fair  enough — if  that's  a  promise." 

"It's  a  promise." 

Lucinda  stood  up,  a  maneuvre  that  lifted  Summerlad 
unwillingly  out  of  his  chair.  He  took  her  hand  and 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  181 

sketched  an  intention  of  using  it  to  draw  her  to  him.  But 
she  laughed  quietly,  shaking  her  head. 

"Good  night,  my  dear." 

"I've  never  tried  to  kiss  you,  Linda    .    .    •„  " 

"And  won't,  I  know,  till  I  want  you  to." 

"Confound  you !  That's  what  I  get  for  giving  you  an 
opening  to  put  me  on  my  honour." 

"It's  more  than  you'd  have  got — or  deserved — if  you 
hadn't." 

His  lips  barely  failed  to  find  her  hand;  Lucinda  had 
drawn  away  in  the  nick  of  time. 

"Don't  go  before  you've  answered  my  question,  Lynn." 

"Question?" 

"What  I'm  to  do  about  these  unlucky  young  women?" 

"Hoped  you'd  forgotten  them." 

"I  can't." 

"You've  got  too  soft  a  heart,  I'm  afraid,  Linda.  I  don't 
see  why  you  always  let  it  rule  your  head — except  about 
me." 

"Perhaps  it's  a  good  sign,  though." 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  how  to  advise  you.  Obviously 
you  can't  turn  Linda  Lee  Inc.  into  a  refuge  for  mis- 
guided females." 

"There's  one  girl  in  especial  I'm  worried  about,  Lynn. 
She  seems  so  ill  and  wretched.  And  even  so,  she's  pretty. 
I'm  sure  a  little  happiness  would  make  her  radiant.  Why 
can't  we  find  or  make  a  chance  for  her  somewhere?" 

"Once  you  start  that  sort  of  thing,  the  whole  pack  will 
be  on  your  back,  they  won't  give  you  a  minute's  peace. 
But  if  you  insist  .  .  .  What's  her  type?" 

"Olive  brune ;  about  my  height ;  and  the  loveliest,  most 
tragic  eyes  ..." 

"Any  experience?" 

"Yes.  She  told  me  she'd  been  working  in  the  East,  but 
her  health  broke  down  and  the  doctors  advised  California. 
She'd  been  out  here  before,  I  gathered,  but  not  in  pic- 
tures. At  least — I'm  not  sure — that's  what  I  understood. 


182  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

She  only  got  in  last  night,  and  they  put  her  at  my  table 
in  the  dining-room,  so  we  met  at  luncheon  today." 

"Lost  no  time  boning  you  for  a  job " 

"She  didn't  suggest  anything  of  the  sort.  I  don't  be- 
lieve she's  heard  yet  about  my  having  my  own  company. 
All  she  said  was,  she  hoped  she  wouldn't  have  too  much 
trouble  finding  work,  she  needed  it  so  desperately." 

"Well,  since  you  make  a  point  of  it,  I'll  see  what  I  can 
do — speak  to  Zinn  about  her.  What's  her  name  ?" 

"Miss  Marquis — Nelly  Marquis,  I  think  she  said." 

Summerlad  had  just  then  opened  his  cigarette  case. 
After  a  thoughtful  pause  he  shut  it  with  a  snap,  neglecting 
to  help  himself  to  a  cigarette,  and  replaced  it  in  his  pocket. 
Then  becoming  sensible  of  the  query  in  Lucinda's  attitude, 
he  asked  in  a  dull  voice :  "What  name  did  you  say  ?" 

"Nelly  Marquis.    Why?    Do  you  know  her?" 

"I  know  a  good  deal  about  her.  Rather  a  bad  lot,  I'm 
afraid.  Look  here,  Linda :  I  wish  you'd  drop  her." 

"Don't  be  stupid,  Lynn." 

"I'm  not.  I  mean  it.  I  can't  very  well  tell  you  what  I 
know,  but  I  do  wish  you'd  take  my  word  for  it  and  cut 
this  woman  out.  She's  really  not  the  sort  you  can  afford 
to  get  mixed  up  with." 

"You're  sure,  Lynn  ?  You  really  want  me  to  understand 
she  is — what  you're  trying  to  avoid  saying?" 

"Yes — and  worse.  I'm  in  earnest,  Linda.  I  think  you 
might  trust  me.  After  all,  I  ought  to  know  my  way  about 
Hollywood,  I've  lived  in  it  long  enough." 

"Of  course  I  trust  you,  Lynn.  I'm  sorry  though.  I 
felt  so  sorry  for  her,  she  didn't  seem  one  of  the  usual 
sort." 

"She  isn't."  Summerlad  gave  a  curt,  meaning  laugh. 
"But  you  said  you  wanted  to  get  rid  of  me,  and  I  think 
I'd  better  go  before  the  old  curiosity  gets  in  its  fine  work 
and  you  ask  me  questions  I  wouldn't  want  to  answer." 

He  possessed  himself  of  Lucinda's  hands  again  and 
kissed  them  ardently,  while  she  looked  on  with  lenient 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  183 

eyes,  more  than  half  in  love  already.  Why,  then,  must 
she  persist  in  hanging  fire  with  him?  Was  it  merely 
crude,  primordial  instinct  prompting  her  to  withstand  the 
male  till  his  will  prevailed?  Or  was  there  something 
wanting  in  the  man,  some  lack  divined  by  a  sense  in  her 
subtle,  anonymous,  and  inarticulate? 

Infinitely  perplexed,  Lucinda  lingered  on  where  Sum- 
merlad  had  left  her,  near  the  far  end  of  the  veranda, 
where  it  rounded  the  rotund  corner  of  the  hotel.  Here 
there  was  always  shade  by  day,  thanks  to  a  screen  of 
subtropical  foliage,  by  night  a  deeper  gloom  than  else- 
where on  the  veranda,  and  at  all  times  a  better  show  of 
privacy. 

The  engine  roared  as  Summerlad's  car  swung  down 
the  drive,  then  changed  its  tune  to  a  thick  drone  as  it 
took  the  boulevard,  heading  away  for  Beverly  Hills.  Still 
Lucinda  rested  as  she  was,  absently  observing  the  play 
of  street  lights  on  leaves  whose  stir  was  all  but  impercep- 
tible in  the  softly  flowing  air. 

Impossible  to  understand  herself,  to  read  her  own  heart, 
make  up  her  mind  .  .  . 

A  thin  trickle  of  sound  violated  the  mid-evening  hush, 
a  broken  and  gusty  beating  of  stifled  sobs  that  for  a  time 
she  heard  without  attention,  then  of  a  sudden  identified. 

Windows  of  guest-rooms  looked  out  on  the  veranda, 
but  Lucinda  had  made  sure  these  were  closed  and  light- 
less  before  permitting  Summerlad's  wooing  to  become 
ardent.  The  semi-round  room  on  the  corner,  however, 
had  French  windows  let  in  at  an  angle  which  she  could 
not  see.  After  a  moment  she  moved  quietly  to  investigate, 
and  discovered  that  one  of  these  was  open,  that  the  sob- 
bing had  its  source  in  a  shapeless  heap  upon  the  floor  in 
the  darkness  beyond. 

Entering  and  kneeling,  Lucinda  touched  gently  the 
shoulder  of  the  stricken  woman.  "Please!"  she  begged. 
"Can  I  do  anything  ?" 

In  a  convulsive  tremor  the  woman  choked  off  her  sobs 


184  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

and  lifted  her  face  to  stare  vacantly.  Enough  light  seeped 
in  from  the  street  to  reveal  the  features  of  Nelly  Marquis. 

Her  voice  broke  huskily  on  the  hush :    "Who  are  you  ?" 

"Miss  Lee — Linda  Lee.    Can't  I  do  something ?" 

With  startling  fury  the  girl  struck  aside  Lucinda's 
hands  and  at  the  same  time  flung  herself  back  and  away. 

"No !"  she  cried  thickly.  "No,  no,  no !  Not  you !  Go 
away — please  go !" 

"I  only  wanted  to  help  you,  if  I  could,"  Lucinda  ex- 
plained, getting  to  her  feet.  "If  you're  unhappy — I'm  so 
sorry " 

The  movement  must  have  been  misinterpreted,  for  the 
girl  sprang  up  like  a  threatened  animal. 

"I  don't  want  your  help!"  she  stormed  throatily.  "I 
don't  want  anything  to  do  with  you — only  to  be  left  alone !" 
She  flung  herself  at  Lucinda  as  if  to  thrust  her  out  by 
force.  "Go !  go !  go !"  she  screamed.  Then  the  window 
slammed. 

"Poor  thing!"  Lucinda  told  herself — "she  must  have 
heard  ,  «  .  " 


XXIV 

THERE  was  at  this  time  little  room  in  Luanda's  inner 
life  for  other  people's  troubles,  she  was  much  too 
agreeably  engrossed  in  doting  on  this  radiant  new  avatar 
of  Linda  Lee,  victress  in  a  form  of  duel  of  which  Sum- 
merlad  was  reputed  a  master  who  had  never  known  defeat. 
Rumours  current  of  his  success  with  women  had  found 
her  credulous  and  lenient ;  mortal  vanity  saw  to  that.  It 
feeds  on  strange  foods,  vanity,  it  waxes  fat  on  inconsist- 
encies. Think  as  well  as  you  will  of  yourself,  you  shall 
not  find  unacceptable  the  belief  that  one  well  loved  by 
many  has  been  laid  low  by  love  of  you  alone  .  .  .  And 
indeed  a  great  part  of  that  indecision  at  which  Lucinda 
in  those  days  played  so  daintily  was  due  to  the  knowledge, 
unformulated  in  her  consciousness  but  none  the  less  exer- 
cising constant  influence  on  her  moods,  that  she  was  less 
in  love  with  Lynn  than  in  love  with  being  loved  by  Lynn 
Summerlad  the  idolized. 

In  many  ways  admirable,  a  fine  animal  who  kept  him- 
self always  exquisitely  fit,  intelligent  enough  to  share  or 
seem  to  share  her  every  taste  and  prejudice,  Lynn  had  laid 
a  spell  upon  her  mind  no  less  than  on  her  senses.  The 
minor  faults  of  which  she  had  earlier  been  aware,  the 
little  things  he  sometimes  did  or  said  that  jarred,  he  had 
amended.  Or  she  was  no  longer  competent  to  perceive 
them  .  .  . 

So  she  put  away  all  care  on  account  of  the  strange 
woman  whose  unhappiness  had  excited  her  quick  compas- 
sion, and  let  fancy  have  its  fling  at  the  dissipation  of 
thinking  how  blessed  was  her  lot,  how  supremely  dis- 
tinguished as  fortune's  favorite  she  was  who  had  every- 
185 


186  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

thing,  youth,  beauty,  health  and  riches,  and  to  whom 
all  things  good  were  granted,  love,  friends,  admiration 
and  envy  of  the  general,  and — never  to  be  misprized — a 
life,  in  its  present  phase,  of  vicissitudes  highly  diverting. 

And  if  she  knew  seasons  when  memories  twinged  like 
an  old  wound  slow  to  mend  beneath  its  scar,  she  found 
a  certain  casuistry  to  console  regrets  and  compound  with 
conscience,  holding  herself  spiritually,  as  in  material  cir- 
cumstances, a  free  agent,  free  to  listen  to  any  man,  if  she 
would,  and  if  she  would  to  love  him.  The  phantom  fic- 
tion of  a  legal  bond,  all  that  was  left  of  her  married  life, 
she  could  do  away  at  will,  at  little  cost  in  inconven- 
ience .  .  . 

That  morning,  as  every  morning  now,  she  woke  with  a 
smile  responsive  to  the  smiling  promise  of  the  day;  and 
when  she  had  lazily  girded  on  her  armour  against  fault- 
finding eyes,  called  for  her  car  and  sallied  forth  to  while 
away  yet  another  day  of  idleness. 

Her  rooms  were  so  situate,  at  the  end  of  one  wing  of 
the  hotel  and  on  the  lower  floor,  that  to  reach  the  main 
entrance  she  had  to  pass  the  corner-room  now  occupied 
by  Nelly  Marquis ;  and  malicious  luck  would  have  it  that 
the  two  should  meet. 

The  Marquis  girl  had  been  out  and  was  returning  with 
a  small  packet  gripped  in  a  shabbily  gloved  hand.  A  well- 
made  woman  with  a  graceful  carriage,  her  face  held  ele- 
ments of  beauty  of  a  wild,  sweet  sort,  but  dimmed  and 
wasted  by  despondency  and  impaired  health.  Today  the 
dark  rings  under  her  eyes  were  deeper,  the  eyes  them- 
selves more  desperate  than  when  their  look  had  first  ap- 
pealed to  Luanda's  sympathies.  And  seeing  her  so,  Lu- 
cinda  with  a  solicitous  cry — "Why,  Miss  Marquis!" — 
paused  and  extended  an  impulsive  hand. 

The  girl  swerved  away  from  the  hand,  shrinking  to 
the  wall,  her  scant  natural  colour  ebbing  till  the  rouge 
was  livid  on  cheeks  and  lips,  while  her  eyes  grew  hard 
and  hot. 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  187 

"Well !"  she  said  sullenly — "what  do  you  want  ?" 

Confounded  by  this  proof  of  a  hostility  as  pertinacious 
as  it  was  perverse,  Lucinda  faltered:  "But — you  are 
ill " 

"Well :  and  if  I  am,  what's  that  to  you  ?"  The  words 
uttered  in  a  level  tone  nevertheless  seemed  to  force  ex- 
plosively past  the  tremulous,  waxen  lips.  "Oh,  don't 
worry  your  head  about  me ;  think  about  yourself.  Don't 
forget  you  can  be  contaminated  by  a  creature  like  me, 
don't  forget" — she  accomplished  a  singularly  true  repro- 
duction of  Summerlad's  tone — "I'm  'really  not  the  sort 
you  can  afford  to  get  mixed  up  with' !" 

"I'm  so  sorry  you  heard,  Miss  Marquis.  Of  course 
neither  of  us  had  any  idea  you  were " 

"Eavesdropping!  why  don't  you  say  it?  I'm  not 
ashamed." 

"But  are  you  fair  to  me?  I  meant  you  no  harm,  I 
didn't  say — what  you  resent — you  know." 

The  girl  gave  a  grimace  of  pure  hate.  "No,"  she 
snarled — "you  didn't  say  anything  unkind,  you  were  too 
busy  posing  as  Lady  Bountiful  to  pass  uncharitable  re- 
marks !  But  he — he  said  enough — enough  for  me.  Oh,  I'm 
not  saying  he  didn't  tell  the  truth !  I'm  'a  bad  lot/  all  right 
— a  rotten  bad  lot,  if  you  want  to  know — and  I'll  be  worse 
before  I'm  better.  So  you  watch  out  and  keep  away  from 
me — d'you  hear?  I  want  and  warn  you  to  keep  away 
from  me.  I  don't  want  your  pity  or  your  charity  or  any 
of  your  holier-than-thou  butting  in — all  I  want's  just  to 
be  let  alone.  Any  time  I  change  my  mind,  I'll  send  you  an 
engraved  notice  ...  I  trust  I  make  myself  clear, 
Miss  Lee!" 

"Yes,  thank  you,"  said  Lucinda  coolly — "quite" — and 
went  her  way. 

Insolence  so  patently  hysterical  could  neither  hurt  nor 
harden  her  heart.  She  consigned  the  affront  to  the  limbo 
of  the  insignificant,  and  had  put  all  thought  of  it  away 


188  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

when,  fifteen  minutes  later,  her  car  brought  her  to  the 
Lontaine  bungalow. 

Here  Lucinda  had  to  rout  Fanny  out  of  bed  and  make 
her  dress,  against  her  protestations  that  she'd  been  on  a 
party  the  night  before,  with  Harry  and  some  people,  so 
needed  rest  and  kind  words  more  than  exercise  and  open 
air. 

The  reflection  cast  a  shadow  as  transitory  as  a  flying 
cloud's  upon  the  bright  tranquillity  of  Lucinda's  temper, 
that  Fanny,  by  her  own  frank  account,  had  been  going  in 
for  parties  rather  heavily  of  late,  and  it  wasn't  doing  her 
any  good.  Not  that  she  showed  ill  effects  more  than  in  a 
feverish  look  that  really  enhanced  her  blonde  prettiness. 
But  with  Fanny's  insatiable  appetite  for  the  sort  of  thing 
that  she  called  fun  .  .  . 

After  all,  that  was  Fanny's  concern,  and  Harry's.  One 
had  confidence  in  their  ultimate  good  sense,  in  their  know- 
ing where  to  draw  the  line,  when  to  call  a  halt. 

From  the  Lontaine  bungalow  the  two  proceeded  to  the 
Zinn  Studios,  having  nothing  better  to  do  and  thinking  to 
pick  up  Harry  there  and  run  him  down  to  the  Alexandria 
for  luncheon.  But  the  shabbily  furnished  little  office  as- 
signed to  Linda  Lee  Inc.  was  empty,  the  blue-and-white 
car  was  missing  from  the  yard,  and  nobody  had  any  in- 
formation concerning  Lontaine's  whereabouts  or  probable 
return. 

This  was  nothing  unusual,  Lontaine  was  always  on 
the  wing,  blowing  to  and  fro  between  Los  Angeles  and  the 
studio ;  but  his  absence  left  the  young  women  at  loose  ends 
until  Fanny  suggested  that  they  look  up  Lynn,  find  out 
what  he  was  doing,  and  make  him  stop  it. 

Summerlad's  company  was  busy  doing  nothing  at  all  on 
one  of  the  enclosed  stages,  contentedly  lounging  in  and 
about  a  bizarre  ball-room  set  and  waiting  for  something 
to  happen;  the  occupation  which,  Lucinda  by  this  time 
had  come  to  know,  earns  the  motion-picture  actor  about 
ninety  per  cent,  of  his  wages;  the  other  ten  being  paid 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  189 

him  for  actual  acting.  Neither  Lynn  nor  Joseph  Jacques, 
his  director,  was  in  evidence,  but  the  cameraman  said  the 
two  of  them  had  retired  to  the  director's  office  for  a  con- 
ference. 

To  the  office  Lucinda  and  Fanny  accordingly  repaired 
and — their  knock  being  answered  by  a  morose  growl — 
there  discovered  Summerlad,  in  elaborate  evening  clothes, 
tilted  back  in  a  desk-chair,  a  thoughtful  scowl  on  his  hand- 
some, painted  face,  with  Jacques,  a  mild-mannered,  slen- 
der young  cinema  sultan  in  riding-breeches  and  boots, 
sitting  on  the  desk  itself  and  moodily  drumming  its  side 
with  his  heels.  These  got  upon  their  feet  in  such  con- 
fusion that  Fanny  was  moved  wickedly  to  enquire  whether 
Lucinda  or  herself  had  been  the  subject  of  their  confab- 
ulations!. "And,"  she  further  stipulated,  sternly,  "what  you 
were  saying  about  whichever  of  us.  I  never  saw  two  peo- 
ple look  more  guilty  of  scandal." 

"It  wasn't  scandal,"  Jacques  insisted  with  an  air  of  too 
transparent  virtue.  "We  had  been  talking  about  Miss 
Lee,  though." 

"Wondering  if  you'd  care  to  be  an  angel  to  us,  Linda." 

"Look  out,  Linda,"  Fanny  warned,  "when  a  man  begs 
a  woman  to  be  an  angel  to  him,  he's  generally  working  her 
up  to  do  something  she  oughtn't." 

"What  is  it?"  Lucinda  enquired,  laughing  at  Summer- 
lad's  dashed  expression. 

"I'm  not  sure  you  ought  to,  at  that,"  he  replied — "in 
your  position,  that  is.  But  it'd  be  sure  angelic  of  you." 

"Help  us  out  of  the  worst  sort  of  a  hole,  Miss  Lee," 
Jacques  added.  "I  wish  you  would." 

"But  what  is  it?" 

"Oh,  nothing  at  all !"  Summerlad  assured  her  with  a 
laugh  that  decried  the  very  idea — "all  we  want  you 
to  do  is  forget  you're  a  star,  or  going  to  be,  and  play  a 
little  part  with  me  in  this  picture  we're  doing  now." 

"But  how  can  I?    I'd  love  to — you  know  that,  Lynn — i 


190  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

but  we've  no  way  of  knowing  when  Mr.  Nolan  will  be 
ready." 

"That's  just  it,  Miss  Lee.  It  isn't  any  part  at  all,  so  to 
speak,  we'll  only  need  you  three  or  four  days ;  what  Mr. 
Summerlad's  afraid  of  is,  you'll  think  it  beneath  your 
dignity." 

"Is  it  such  an  undignified  part?" 

"Well,  you'd  have  to  play  second  fiddle  to  Alice  Drake." 

Miss  Drake  was  Summerlad's  leading  woman  pro  tem. 
Lucinda  made  a  laughing  face. 

"Is  that  all?  Going  on  the  fuss  you  make,  I  thought 
you'd  at  least  want  me  to  play  a  Sennett  Bathing  Beauty. 
I  see  no  reason  in  the  world  why  I  should  balk  at  playing 
second  to  as  good  an  actress  as  Miss  Drake." 

"Well,  not  only  that,  but  the  part  isn't  big  enough  for 
you,  Linda — only  a  bit,  you  know,  so  little  it's  scarcely 
worth  mentioning." 

"Then  who  will  know  or  care  who  acts  in  it  ?  I'd  per- 
fectly love  to  do  it  for  you,  if  you  think  I  can." 

"Knew  she  would!"  Jacques  crowed.  "What'd  I  tell 
you?  A  thoroughbred's  a  thoroughbred  every  time!" 

"You  are  a  brick,  Linda,  and  no  mistake.  You've  no 
idea  what  a  load  you've  taken  off  our  minds.  You  see,  this 
part,  while  nothing  to  speak  of  in  itself,  is  awfullv  impor- 
tant to  the  picture  in  one  way ;  it  absolutely  demands  some- 
body who's  got  everything  you've  got." 

"If  we  stick  in  anybody  that  hasn't,"  Jacques  inter- 
polated, "the  whole  works  will  postolutely  go  ker-flooey." 

"We  did  the  best  we  could,"  Summerlad  pursued,  "had 
Gloria  Glory  engaged ;  but  this  morning,  when  she  was  to 
report  for  work,  she  sent  round  word  she  had  ptomaine 
poisoning  and  was  being  taken  to  a  hospital." 

"Gloria  Glory?"  Fanny  put  in.  "Why,  I  saw  her 
down  at  Sunset  last  night.  And  the  only  thing  the  matter 
with  her  then  was  not  ptomaine  poisoning." 

"Too  much  party,"  Jacques  interpreted.     "I  had  the 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  191 

hunch,  all  right.  Gloria  sure  do  crook  a  mean  elbow 
when  she  gets  it  unlimbered." 

"Then  you'll  do  it,  Linda?" 

"I'll  love  doing  it.    What  do  you  want  me  to  wear?" 

"You'll  do !"  Summerlad  chuckled.  "Only  a  natural- 
born  picture  actress  would  ask  what  to  wear  before  want- 
ing to  know  what  the  part  was.  You  begin  tomorrow  if 
you  can  get  your  costume  ready,  and  you'll  only  want  one, 
a  riding  habit." 

"Cross-saddle  costume,  Miss  Lee,"  Jacques  explained. 
"White  breeches  and  a  pair  of  swell  boots — you  know — • 
like  the  society  dames  wear  when  they  go  hoss-backing  in 
Central  Park,  New  York,  if  you've  ever  seen  'em." 

"Yes,"  said  Lucinda  soberly — "once  or  twice." 

"Have  you  got  a  riding  costume,  Linda?" 

"No  ;  but  I  daresay  I  can  pick  one  up  in  Los  Angeles 
this  afternoon." 

"Do  that,  will  you,  Miss  Lee,  if  you  can?  And  be  on 
the  lot  at  eight  tomorrow,  made  up,  please.  It's  a  forty- 
mile  run  to  the  location,  and  we  want  to  get  there  early's 
we  can  so's  to  get  all  set  to  shoot  when  the  light's  right." 

Actor  and  director  pranced  grateful  attendance  on  the 
two  women  as  they  returned  to  their  motor-car ;  and  when 
it  had  vanished  down  the  drive,  Summerlad  fell  upon 
Jacques  and  shook  him  fervently  by  the  hand. 

"You're  a  true  friend,  Joe !"  he  declared  in  mock-emo- 
tional accents.  "I'll  never  forget  what  you've  done  for  me 
this  day." 

"Worked  out  pretty,  didn't  it?"  the  director 
grinned.  "What  d'you  know  about  them  dames  walking 
in  on  us,  just  when  we'd  got  it  all  doped  ?  But  you  always 
were  a  fool  for  luck,  Lynn,  s'far's  the  skirts  are  concerned 
— you  old  hyena !" 

"I  am  this  flop,  anyway,"  Summerlad  mused  with  a  far- 
away look.  "Those  white  riding-breeches  were  a  regular 
inspiration,  Joe:  if  she  finds  a  pair  before  night,  I  miss 
my  guess." 


192  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

"Well,  it  don't  do  to  ride  your  luck  too  hard.  You've 
got  all  afternoon  with  the  coast  clear — maybe !  Get  your 
make-up  off  and  beat  it  quick." 


XXV 

AS  it  turned  out,  however,  Lucinda  experienced  no 
great  difficulty  in  fitting  herself  acceptably  with  a 
ready-made  costume  of  white  linen  for  cross-saddle  riding, 
and  light  tan  boots  of  soft  leather. 

The  prospect  of  at  last  doing  real  work  before  a  camera, 
after  her  long  wait  since  falling  in  with  Lontaine's  scheme, 
inspired  a  quiet  elation.  She  had  already  been  elaborately 
tested  and  re-tested,  of  course,  by  the  cameraman  under 
contract  with  Linda  Lee  Inc.;  she  had  ceased  to  feel 
self-conscious  in  the  fierce  white  light  of  the  Kleigs,  and 
was  familiar  almost  to  satiety  with  the  sensation,  at  first 
so  nightmarish,  of  sitting  in  a  darkened  chamber  and 
watching  herself  move  to  and  fro  upon  a  lighted  screen. 
This  last,  however,  had  given  Lucinda  confidence  in  the 
photographic  value  of  her  good  looks ;  and  she  had  further- 
more learned,  through  measuring  her  unproved  abilities 
by  those  of  established  screen  actresses  daily  displayed  to 
the  millions,  not  to  be  apprehensive  of  scoring  an  utter 
failure  when  her  time  came  to  entertain  with  the  mobile 
shadow  of  her  self  audiences  that  had  paid  to  be  amused. 

So  she  felt  assured  of  doing  well  enough  in  her  work 
with  Summerlad.  And  if  her  mood  was  serious,  when  she 
alighted  at  the  hotel  and  gave  a  bellboy  her  purchases, 
it  was  because  she  was  thinking  of  nothing  but  her  imme- 
diate purpose,  which  was  to  try  on  her  costume  all  com- 
plete, with  hat,  boots,  gloves  and  riding-crop,  before  a 
mirror,  partly  to  make  sure  every  detail  was  as  it  should 
be,  but  mostly  to  satisfy  herself  that  she  would  look  as 
fetching  as  she  felt  she  must. 

It  wasn't  till  she  found  herself  in  the  corridor  leading 
193 


194  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

to  her  suite  that  Lucinda  remembered  Nelly  Marquis ;  she 
hadn't  given  the  girl  two  thoughts  since  morning,  and  in 
all  likelihood  wouldn't  have  given  her  another  had  she  not 
met  the  bellboy  returning  from  delivering  the  parcels  to 
her  maid,  and  paused  to  tip  him  in  front  of  the  door  to 
the  corner  room.  Then,  as  he  thanked  her  and  passed  on, 
she  noticed  that  the  door  was  slightly  ajar,  the  room  be- 
yond dark  with  early  dusk,  and  finally,  where  the  light 
from  the  corridor  struck  in  across  the  threshold,  a  white 
hand  at  rest  upon  the  floor,  a  woman's  hand,  palm  up,  the 
fingers  slightly  contracted,  absolutely  still.  A  startling 
thing  to  see  .  .  . 

For  a  few  seconds  Lucinda  stood  entranced  with  pre- 
monitions of  horror.  Then  she  moved  to  the  door  and 
rapped  on  it  gently.  There  was  no  response,  the  hand 
didn't  stir.  She  called  guardedly :  "Miss  Marquis !" — 
and  when  nobody  answered  laid  hold  of  the  knob.  The 
door  met  a  soft  obstacle  when  less  than  half-open,  and 
would  yield  no  farther.  The  light  now  disclosed  an  arm 
bare  to  the  elbow.  With  a  shiver  Lucinda  stepped  in  and 
groped  along  the  wall  till  her  fingers  found  and  turned  the 
switch  illuminating  the  central  chandelier. 

Nelly  Marquis  lay  supine,  breathing  if  at  all  so  lightly 
that  the  movement  of  her  bosom,  beneath  the  ragged  lace 
of  a  dingy  pink  silk  neglige,  was  imperceptible.  Her  lids, 
half  lowered,  showed  only  the  whites  of  rolled  up  eyes, 
her  lips  were  parted  and  discoloured,  her  painted  pallor 
was  more  ghastly  even  than  it  had  been  in  the  morning. 
On  the  evidence  of  her  body's  posture  in  relation  to  the 
partly  opened  door,  she  had  been  taken  suddenly  ill,  had 
rushed  to  call  for  assistance,  and  had  fallen  in  the  act 
of  turning  the  knob. 

Lucinda  shut  the  door,  knelt,  touched  the  girl's  wrist, 
and  found  it  icy  cold.  But  her  bosom  was  warm,  the  heart 
in  it  faintly  but  indisputably  fluttering. 

In  relief  and  pity,  she  essayed  to  take  the  girl  up  in  her 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  195 

arms  and  carry  her  to  the  bed,  but  found  the  dead  weight 
too  great. 

Casting  round  at  random  for  something  in  the  nature 
of  a  restorative,  smelling  salts  or  the  like,  she  saw  nothing 
that  would  serve,  at  first,  only  a  disarray  of  garments  and 
other  belongings  characteristic  of  natures  in  which  care 
for  appearances  and  personal  neatness  has  become  atro- 
phied through  one  cause  or  another — if  it  ever  existed. 
But  she  noticed  absently  that  one  of  the  windows  stood 
wide  to  the  veranda,  and  went  to  close  it  and  draw  the 
shade  before  pursuing  her  search. 

Then,  in  the  bathroom,  she  found  a  bottle  of  aggressive 
toilet  water  and  a  pint  flask  of  whiskey,  half  emptied. 

Alternately  moistening  the  pale  lips  with  the  whiskey 
and  bathing  the  brows  and  temples  with  the  pungent 
water,  she  observed  for  the  first  time  a  reddish  bruise 
under  the  left  eye,  the  mark  of  a  blow,  possibly  sustained 
in  falling.  But  there  was  nothing  nearby  that  the  girl 
could  have  struck  to  inflict  such  a  hurt  except  the  door- 
knob, and  if  she  had  struck  this  with  such  force  she  must 
have  slammed  the  door. 

It  was  puzzling    .     .     . 

Her  ministrations  eventually  began  to  take  effect.  The 
bleached  lips  quivered,  closed,  then  opened  and  closed 
several  times.  The  woman's  lashes  trembled  and  curtained 
her  eyes.  Lucinda  went  to  the  bathroom  for  water.  When 
she  returned  with  half  a  glassful  liberally  laced  with 
whiskey,  Nelly  Marquis  was  conscious ;  but  her  eyes,  with 
pupils  inordinately  expanded,  remained  witless  until  she 
had  drained  the  glass  with  convulsive  gulps  and  Lucinda 
had  set  it  aside. 

"Do  you  think  you're  strong  enough  now  to  get  to  bed, 
if  I  help?" 

The  girl  nodded:  "...  try,"  she  whispered.  Using 
all  her  strength,  Lucinda  succeeded  in  getting  Nelly  Mar- 
quis on  her  feet.  About  this  time  the  clouded  faculties  be- 
gan to  clear.  Clinging  to  Lucinda's  arm,  Nelly  started 


196  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

as  if  in  a  spasm  of  fear,  darted  swift  glances  of  terror 
round  the  room,  then  turned  a  look  of  perplexity  to  Lu- 
cinda. 

"Where  is  he?"  the  whisper  demanded.  "Has  he — 
has  he  gone  ?" 

"There  is  no  one  else  here,  nothin^  to  be  afraid  of. 
Come :  let  me  help  you  to  bed." 

Recognition  dawned  as  she  spoke,  with  a  movement  of 
feeble  fury  the  girl  threw  Lucinda's  arm  away,  but  de- 
prived of  its  support  staggered  to  the  foot  of  the  bed, 
to  which  she  clung,  quaking. 

"You !"  she  cried —  "what  you  doing  here?" 

"The  door  was  open,  I  saw  you  lying  senseless  on  the 
floor.  I  couldn't  go  on  and  leave  you  like  that.  You'd 
have  done  as  much  for  me." 

"Oh!  would  I?  A  lot  you  know!"  Her  knees  seemed 
about  to  buckle;  will-power  alone  kept  Nelly  Marquis 
from  sinking;  yet  she  persisted:  "I  suppose  I  ought  to 
thank  you.  Well:  much  obliged,  I'm  sure.  Is  that 
enough  ?" 

"Quite  enough.  I've  no  wish  to  annoy  you.  Only,  let 
me  suggest,  you  need  a  doctor.  May  I  ask  the  office  to 
call  one?" 

"When  I  want  a  doctor,  I'll  call  him  myself.  Good 
night." 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Lucinda  simply. 

With  no  choice  other  than  to  go,  she  went.  But  the 
vision  she  carried  away,  of  Nelly  Marquis  glaring  at  her 
with  eyes  malevolent,  her  frail  body  vibrating  so  that  it 
shook  the  bed,  must  have  haunted  Lucinda's  conscience 
all  evening  long  had  she  let  the  affair  drop  then  and  there. 

Returning  to  her  room,  she  telephoned  the  office  and 
asked  for  the  hotel  physician.  The  clerk  reported  that 
the  doctor  was  out,  but  promised  to  advise  him  of  her 
call  as  soon  as  he  came  in. 

Upwards  of  an  hour  later  a  knock  ushered  in  a  quiet 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  197 

young  man  with  weary,  understanding  eyes,  who  at- 
tended gravely  to  what  Lucinda  had  to  tell  him. 

"She  seems  to  have  taken  such  an  inexplicable  dislike 
to  me,"  Lucinda  wound  up,  "I'm  sure  she  won't  see  you 
if  she  knows  you  come  through  me.  But  the  girl  is  really 
ill  and  needs  help.  So,  I  thought,  perhaps  you  might 
find  someone  else  in  the  hotel  who  knows  her  and  could 
get  her  to  consent  to  see  you." 

"I  fancy  I  know  her  well  enough  myself  to  excuse  a 
friendly  call,"  the  physician  answered.  "She's  an  old  pa- 
tient of  mine,  though  she  hasn't  been  in  Hollywood  for 
some  time,  I  believe." 

"Then  you  must  know  what's  the  matter  with 
her  ...  " 

"Yes,  I  know  .  .  .  But  it  would  be  unprofessional 
to  tell  you,  of  course,  Miss  Lee." 

"Then  tell  me  this  much :  that  you  can  help  her." 

"I'm  not  sure  of  that.  Not  unless  she's  willing.  To  do 
her  any  real  good,  I'd  have  to  have  her  under  observa- 
tion for  some  weeks.  And  cases  like  hers  are  peculiar,  pe- 
culiarly strong-headed  .  .  .  However,  I'll  see  if  I  can 
do  anything  with  her  now,  and  let  you  know." 

Three  minutes  after  he  had  left,  he  knocked  again. 

"Too  late,  Miss  Lee,"  he  reported.  "Nelly  Marquis 
checked  out  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago,  they  tell  me 
at  the  desk — called  for  an  auto  and  left  no  address." 


XXVI 

THE  indigene  of  Southern  California  has  long  since 
ceased  to  regard  with  much  interest  the  publicly 
practised  tribal  customs  of  those  clans  which  herd  upon 
the  motion-picture  reservation.  He  no  longer  thinks  he's 
seeing  life  when  he  comes  upon  troops  of  fairy  policemen 
rapturously  chasing  their  trails  by  broad  daylight,  or  woe- 
begone gentlemen  with  too  much  trousers  popping  out  of 
manholes  in  public  thoroughfares,  or  painfully  uncon- 
scious sweethearts  in  broad-minded  evening  dress  at  high 
noon  fondling  each  other  in  front  of,  say,  the  Hollywood 
Hotel.  He  no  more  knows  a  thrill  when  motor-loads  of 
revellers  in  giddy  costume  and  with  sanguine  noses 
blow  by  his  unromantic  bungalow  at  breakneck  speed,  pre- 
ceded or  followed  by  other  cars  filled  with  bored  prole- 
taires  in  workaday  clothes,  among  them  one  embracing  af- 
fectionately the  slim  young  limbs  of  a  camera  tripod.  And 
if  he  should  chance  to  observe  his  next-door  neighbour 
lamming  the  everlasting  daylights  out  of  his  wife  on  the 
front  lawn,  he  would  make  sure  there  was  no  camera  with- 
in range  before  telephoning  for  the  police. 

A  month  of  Hollywood  had  so  accustomed  Lucinda  to 
such  sights  that  she  became  a  part  of  them,  at  least  in  as 
far  as  involved  coursing  through  the  streets  in  full  make- 
up, without  any  sense  of  making  herself  unduly  con- 
spicuous. 

She  even  forgot  to  think  it  strange  that  she,  Lucinda 
Druce,  should  not  resent  being  made  love  to  unprofes- 
sionally,  that  is  to  say  without  an  eye  to  the  camera,  by  a 
198 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  199 

man  with  rouge  on  cheeks  and  lips  and  eyelashes  beaded 
with  mascaro. 

If  the  feeling  that  she  had  cast  her  lines  in  strange 
places  was  quick  to  wear  off,  in  those  three  days  of  work 
with  the  Summerlad  company,  the  fun  of  it  wasn't.  Lu- 
cinda  threw  herself  into  the  detail  of  every  hour  with 
tremendous  zest,  and  liked  it  all  as  she  seldom  had  liked 
anything  before. 

To  rise  hours  before  the  time  at  which  use  had  habited 
her  to  waking,  rout  the  drowsiness  from  her  flesh  with  a 
cold  plunge,  dress  hastily  in  her  becoming  white  costume, 
snatch  a  bite  of  breakfast  and  dash  out  into  the  cool  glow 
of  morning  sunlight  to  rendezvous  at  the  studio;  to  pick 
up  Lynn  and  Fanny  for  company  on  a  cross-country  race 
to  a  wild  canyon  of  the  Sierra  Madre ;  to  change  to  horse- 
back when  the  going  grew  perilous  for  motor  travel,  and 
ride  five  miles  farther  up  a  trail  that  now  ran  level  with 
the  rushing  waters  of  a  mountain  stream,  now  climbed 
dizzily  above  it  on  rocky  ledges  barely  wide  enough  to  af- 
ford foothold  for  one  horse  at  a  time,  ending  in  a  lovely 
wilderness  spot  which  Jacques  had  selected  because,  he 
said,  it  hadn't  been  "shot  to  death" ;  to  idle,  chat  and  gig- 
gle with  Lynn,  Fanny  and  Alice  Drake  during  the  long 
delays  devoted  by  Jacques  to  making  up  his  mind  what  he 
wanted  the  company  to  do  in  preference  to  the  action  indi- 
cated in  the  continuity  which  he  was  politely  presumed 
to  be  producing;  to  lunch  al  fresco,  grouped  round  a 
blanket  on  which  a  decidedly  rude  and  hearty  picnic 
meal  was  spread ;  to  frolic  through  a  few  minutes  of  make- 
believe  while  the  camera  clicked  and  Jacques  bawled  di- 
rections through  a  megaphone;  then  to  drive  back  in  the 
evening  lull,  with  lights  breaking  out  in  lilac  dusk  like 
fireflies  in  a  tinted  mist;  to  get  home  so  weary  that  she 
could  hardly  keep  awake  long  enough  to  wolf  down  the 
dinner  for  which  she  was  ravening,  then  to  fling  herself 
into  the  warm,  all-obliterating  haven  of  bed ;  and  all  the 
while  to  be  falling  more  and  more  madly  in  love  but  still 


200  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

practising  delectable,  self-tantalizing  self-denial:  this 
wasn't  work  in  any  sense,  but  play,  sheer  play  of  a  most 
gorgeous  sort  and  of  which  surely  one  could  never  tire. 

If  this  were  all  there  was  to  motion-picture  acting,  then 
Lucinda  could  not  wonder  that,  as  she  was  one  day  in- 
formed by  a  crusty  veteran  of  the  colony:  "Bums  may 
turn  revivalists,  and  lawyers  honest,  but  there  ain't  no 
known  cure  for  a  lens  lizard." 

In  the  name  of  all  things  reasonable !  why  sigh  to  be 
cured  of  a  vocation  at  once  so  profitable  and  so  enthrall- 
ing? 

There  was  another  side  to  the  business,  of  course,  there 
had  to  be.  One  knew  it  couldn't  be  all  beer  and  skittles, 
one  heard  dark  hints  of  the  uglier  side,  one  even  caught 
glimpses  of  it  and  its  workings  now  and  then,  as  in  the 
instance  of  Nelly  Marquis;  but  awareness  of  it  had  no 
perceptible  effect  upon  the  spirits  of  those  with  whom  Lu- 
cinda found  herself  associated  for  the  time  being.  Some 
of  the  younger  members  of  the  acting  division  seemed  to 
take  life  a  thought  seriously — "life"  meaning,  as  a  rule, 
themselves — but  the  more  experienced,  and  the  men  of 
the  technical  groups,  the  directors,  cameramen,  and  their 
assistants,  the  property  men  and  jacks-of-all-trades,  went 
about  their  work  with  jests  ever  on  their  lips.  Lucinda 
heard  few  orders  given  or  acknowledged  other  than  in  the 
semi-jocular  vein  known  as  "kidding."  Even  Jacques, 
whose  office  clothed  him  with  a  certain  dignity,  by  which 
he  was  intermittently  depressed,  seemed  in  his  most 
earnest  moments  to  find  it  difficult  to  express  himself  in 
terms  of  becoming  gravity.  The  common  attitude 
summed  up  to  this :  that  making  pictures  was  all  a  huge 
lark  and  (strictly  between  those  engaged  in  it)  a  darned 
good  joke  on  the  people  who  paid  the  bills. 

As  for  the  part  she  was  supposed  to  play  in  this  picture 
of  Summerlad's,  Lucinda  never  managed  to  secure  an  in- 
telligible exposition  of  its  nature  or  its  relation  to  the  plot. 
Both  Summerlad  and  Jacques  seemed  strangely  vague  in 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  201 

their  own  minds  concerning  it,  and  Alice  Drake  frankly 
confessed  she  hadn't  read  the  'script  and  hadn't  the  faint- 
est notion  what  the  picture  was  about.  She  did  what 
Jacques  told  her  to  do,  and  did  it  very  well,  and  so  long 
as  there  were  no  complaints  and  her  weekly  cheque 
turned  up  on  time,  she  didn't  care  (she  said)  a  thin  red 
hoot  about  the  story.  Neither  was  this  an  uncommon  atti- 
tude, she  averred;  not  infrequently  directors  imposed  it 
upon  the  actors  and  actresses  working  under  them.  There 
was  George  Loane  Tucker,  who  had  directed  The  Miracle 
Man;  Miss  Drake  had  worked  for  him  and  could  testify 
concerning  his  methods.  He  never  told  any  of  the  cast 
what  the  story  was,  only  what  he  wanted  them  to  wear  and 
do  and  how  and  when  to  do  it ;  that  was  all.  He  had  even 
invented  a  secret  system  of  numbering  the  "takes,"  so  that 
he  alone  could  properly  assemble  the  thousand  or  so  sep- 
arate scenes  and  close-ups  which  go  to  make  up  the  aver- 
age motion-picture  when  photography  on  it  is  finished, 
scenes  which  are  never  by  any  chance  photographed  in 
consecutive  order.  Nor  was  Tucker  the  only  one  ... 

Later  on,  in  the  projection-rooms  of  the  Zinn  Studios, 
Lucinda  saw  the  "rushes"  of  the  scenes  in  which  she  had 
played ;  "rushes"  being  the  first  positive  prints  made  from 
the  uncut  negative :  "takes"  running  anywhere  from  twice 
to  a  hundred  times  the  length  of  the  scene  to  be  finally  in- 
corporated into  the  finished  picture  and  disclosed  to  the 
public.  She  was  well  content  with  the  way  she  had  done 
what  little  had  been  given  her  to  do,  but  was  left  in  the 
dark  as  to  what  it  was  all  about.  And  in  the  final  cutting 
and  editing,  that  sequence  of  scenes  dropped  out  of  the 
film  altogether.  So  that  nobody  ever  knew,  except  pos- 
sibly Summerlad  and  Jacques  .  .  . 

To  the  best  of  her  observation  her  role  was  that  of  an 
involuntary  vamp.  Not  vampire :  vamp.  No  other  term 
will  serve  so  well.  Originally  a  derisive  diminutive,  the 
usage  of  the  studios  has  endowed  this  monosyllable  with 
a  significance  all  its  own,  not  readily  definable.  A  vamp 


202  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

no  longer  means  of  necessity  a  vampire,  a  scarlet-mouthed 
seductress  of  strong  men's  souls.  A  vamp  may  be  a  far 
more  socially  possible  person  that  that,  in  fact  any  attrac- 
tive woman  who  comports  herself  toward  another  wom- 
an's man  consistently  with  the  common  amenities  of  civ- 
ilized intercourse. 

As  an  involuntary  vamp,  then,  Miss  Lee  was  to  meet 
Mr.  Summerlad  under  romantic  circumstances  and  inno- 
cently wean  him  from  strict  fidelity  to  the  charms  of  his 
betrothed  (or  it  may  have  been  his  wife)  Miss  Drake.  Of 
this  situation  Miss  Drake  was  in  due  course  to  become 
cognizant.  What  was  to  happen  after  that  between  Miss 
Drake  and  Mr.  Summerlad  was  no  concern  of  the  invol- 
untary vamp's.  Furthermore,  she  never  learned. 

The  said  romantic  circumstances  proved  sufficiently 
thrilling  to  bring  about  an  early  wedding  in  most  films. 
Miss  Lee  was  run  away  with  by  her  horse  while  taking  an 
early  morning  canter  in  mountains  conveniently  adja- 
cent to  her  family's  suburban  villa.  Mr.  Summerlad, 
similarly  engaged  in  health-giving  equestrianism,  hap- 
pened along  at  the  right  time  to  observe  her  peril,  pursue, 
and  snatch  her  bodily  from  her  saddle  to  his  arms  at  the 
very  instant  when  her  mount  was  plunging  headlong  over 
a  precipice.  After  which  he  escorted  her  to  her  home,  and 
on  the  way  the  two  indulged  in  such  normal  love-making 
as  was  only  to  be  expected  when  the  facts  of  the  case  were 
taken  into  consideration. 

Jacques  used  up  all  of  one  day  and  two-thirds  of  the 
next  staging  and  shooting  the  runaway  and  the  rescue 
scenes,  in  none  of  which  either  Lucinda  or  Summerlad  fig- 
ured in  person.  Lucinda,  it  is  true,  was  photographed  from 
several  angles,  riding  along  the  mountainside  trail  at  a 
point  where  it  was  broad  enough  for  her  horse,  with  safe- 
ty to  its  rider,  to  shy  and  start  to  run  away.  The  animal 
was  an  unusually  intelligent,  perfectly  trained  and  docile 
trick-horse  that,  given  the  right  signals,  would  perform 
a  number  of  feats  such  as  shying,  running  away,  stopping 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  203 

short,  falling  dead  under  its  rider.  And  Lucinda  was  a 
good  horsewoman,  though  not  good  enough  for  such 
rough  and  really  dangerous  riding  as  would  be  required 
after  the  start  of  the  runaway.  A  double  was  therefore 
provided  for  her,  a  tough  and  wiry  young  person  of  about 
her  height  and  weight  who  made  her  living  by  risking  her 
life  in  just  such  ways,  and  who,  with  Lucinda's  white 
coat,  hat  and  boots  added  to  her  own  white  riding- 
breeches,  passed  well  enough  for  Lucinda  in  "distance 
shots." 

A  double  was  likewise  provided  for  Summerlad,  though 
he  was  a  superb  rider  and  vigorously  asserted  his  right 
to  take  what  chances  he  pleased  with  his  own  neck.  But 
Jacques  explained  it  wasn't  Summerlad's  neck  he  cared 
about,  it  was  finishing  a  picture  in  which  eighty  thousand 
dollars  had  already  been  sunk  and  for  whose  completion 
Summerlad's  services  would  be  required  for  four  more 
weeks.  Thereafter  he  could  break  his  neck  as  often  and 
in  as  many  places  as  he  liked,  for  all  of  Jacques. 

So  Summerlad  held  his  peace  and  his  place  at  Lucinda's 
side,  well  out  of  harm's  way,  while  Jacques  went  ahead 
and  directed  the  rescue. 

Runaway,  pursuit  and  rescue  were  all  staged  on  a  ledge- 
like  trail  three  hundred  feet  above  the  boulder-strewn  bed 
of  the  brawling  stream,  and  were  photographed  simulta- 
neously by  three  cameras,  from  the  river-bed  shooting  up- 
wards, from  the  opposite  side  of  the  canyon  on  a  level 
with  the  trail,  and  from  the  trail  itself  but  at  a  distance 
great  enough  to  prevent  the  fact  that  doubles  were  used 
from  becoming  evident  when  the  pictures  were  projected. 

It  was  all  honestly  hazardous  and  ticklish  work,  ren- 
dered doubly  and  trebly  so  by  the  fact  that  each  part  of 
the  action  had  to  be  replayed  over  and  over  again  to  satisfy 
Jacques,  an  old  hand  at  "stunt  stuff"  and  a  painstaking 
one. 

Lucinda's  heart,  as  she  looked  "on,  was  in  her  mouth 
more  often  than  not.  It  made  no  difference  that  it  was 


204  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

all  played  at  a  far  slower  tempo  than  would  appear  when 
it  was  screened;  the  projection-machine  flashes  the  pic- 
tures across  the  screen  at  a  faster  rate  than  that  at  which 
they  are  taken ;  consequently  it  is  only  necessary  to  crank 
the  camera  at  slower  than  normal  speed  to  attain  an  effect 
of  terrific  speed  in  projection.  Fast  or  slow,  it  was  risky 
enough  in  all  conscience ;  and  Lucinda  was  more  than  glad 
when  the  last  repetition  had  been  shot  and  Jacques  gave 
orders  to  shift  to  a  location  near  the  mouth  of  the  canyon. 

For  those  scenes  of  sentiment  which  Lucinda  and  Sum- 
merlad  were  to  play  in  person,  Jacques  wanted  the  con- 
trast of  richer  and  more  abundant  vegetation,  and  the  lo- 
cation he  selected  brought  the  party  at  length  to  a  point 
below  that  at  which  the  automobiles  had  been  forced  to 
stop. 

Here  Lucinda  and  Summerlad  were  photographed  time 
and  again,  in  distance  shots,  medium  shots,  and  close-ups, 
riding  side  by  side,  registering  the  dawn  of  a  more  inti- 
mate interest  each  in  the  other,  dismounting  to  rest  in  a 
sweet  sylvan  glade  by  the  side  of  the  stream,  and  finally  in 
each  other's  arms,  with  Miss  Drake  riding  up  to  surprise 
them  as  they  kissed. 

Whether  by  intention  or  because  such  scenes  are  a  com- 
monplace of  picture-making,  Lucinda  could  not  say,  but 
she  had  not  been  in  any  way  prepared  for  the  fact  that 
she  was  to  be  kissed  by  Summerlad ;  whereas  she  had  been 
flirting  with  him  decorously  but  dangerously  for  the  best 
part  of  three  days.  Now  suddenly,  toward  the  close  of  the 
third,  she  was  instructed  to  permit  his  embrace,  submit  to 
his  kiss,  and  kiss  him  in  response. 

She  made  no  demur,  for  that  would  have  seemed  silly, 
but  did  her  best  to  ape  the  matter-of-course  manner  of 
all  hands,  and  went  through  it  with  all  the  stoicism,  when 
the  camera  wasn't  trained  on  her,  that  was  compatible 
with  the  emotions  she  must  show  when  it  was. 

But  her  heart  was  thumping  furiously  when  she  felt 
Summerlad's  arms  for  the  first  time  enfold  her ;  and  when, 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  205 

murmuring  terms  of  endearment  appropriate  to  both  the 
parts  the  man  was  playing,  he  put  his  lips  to  hers,  she 
knew,  both  despite  and  because  of  the  tumult  of  her 
senses,  that  she  was  lost.  Control  of  the  situation  be- 
tween them  passed  in  that  instant  from  her  hands  to  his. 

Released  at  length,  she  looked  round,  dazed  and  breath- 
less, to  find  that,  during  the  business  of  the  kiss,  a  party  of 
uninvited  onlookers  had  been  added  to  their  professional 
audience. 

A  motor-car  had  slipped  up  on  the  group  and  stopped, 
and  one  of  its  two  passengers  had  alighted  and  drawn  near 
to  watch. 

This  was  Bellamy. 


XXVII 

MOMENTARILY  stunned  eyes  saw  the  face  of  Bel- 
lamy only  as  a  swimming  blur  of  flesh-colour  shad- 
ed by  a  smile  of  hateful  mockery.  Then,  not  unlike  rays 
of  the  sun  escaping  from  complete  eclipse,  Lucinda's  wits 
struggled  from  out  a  dark  penumbra  of  dismay  to  make 
new  terms  with  the  world — or  try  to,  under  the  handicap 
of  panicy  conviction  that  it  was  all  up  now  with  Linda 
Lee. 

Such  was  her  first  thought  ...  In  another  min- 
ute or  two,  as  soon  as  she  was  able  to  acknowledge  what 
she  might  not  much  longer  ignore,  Bellamy's  attitude  of 
patient  but  persevering  attention,  everybody  present  must 
learn  that  she  had  no  right  title  to  the  style  by  which  she 
had  palmed  herself  off  on  Hollywood;  by  nightfall  the 
studios  would  be  agog  over  the  news  that  Linda  Lee  was 
no  less  a  personage  than  Mrs.  Bellamy  Druce. 

She  was  curiously  disturbed  less  because  of  the  circum- 
stances in  which  her  husband  had  found  her  out  than  on 
account  of  the  menace  he  presented  to  the  plans  she  had 
of  late  begun  to  nurse  so  tenderly.  All  at  once  Lucinda  dis- 
covered how  passionately  her  heart  had  become  implicated 
in  this  adventure,  how  deeply  the  ambition  had  struck 
its  roots  into  her  being  to  win  by  native  ability  unaided  to 
those  starry  eminences  whereon  the  great  ones  of  the 
cinema  sojourned.  To  hear  the  inevitable  verdict  read 
upon  her  career  before  it  was  fairly  launched,  "Another 
screen-struck  society  woman !"  were  an  affront  to  decent 
self-esteem  by  the  side  of  which  it  seemed  a  trivial  mat- 
ter that  Bellamy,  no  more  her  husband  but  by  grace  of  the 
206 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  207 

flimsiest  of  civil  fictions,  had  caught  her  in  the  act  of  kiss- 
ing another  man. 

Notwithstanding,  her  cheeks  were  hot,  she  experienced 
infinite  vexation  of  the  knowledge;  and — all  her  efforts 
to  recover  hindered  by  a  silence  damnably  eloquent  of 
general  sensitiveness  to  a  piquant  and  intriguing  moment 
— she  was  shaken  by  gusts  of  impotent  irritation  in  whose 
grasp  she  could  almost  without  a  qualm  have  murdered 
Bellamy  where  he  stood,  if  only  to  quench  that  graceless 
grin  of  his,  and  the  more  readily  since  he,  on  his  part, 
seeing  her  reduced  to  temporary  incompetence,  chose  to 
treat  her  with  the  most  exemplary  and  exasperating 
magnanimity. 

Hat  in  hand,  the  other  proffered  in  sublime  effrontery, 
smiling  his  winningest  smile,  Bel  strode  blithely  into  the 
forbidden  ground  of  the  camera  lines ;  while  his  gay  salu- 
tation fell  upon  ears  incredulous. 

"How  d'you  do,  Miss  Lee.  Don't  say  you've  forgotten 
me  so  soon !  Druce,  you  know,  Bellamy  Druce " 

"Don't  be  ridiculous,  Bel!" 

"Can't  blame  me  for  wondering — can  you? — the  way 
you  stare,  as  if  I  were  a  ghost.'' 

"So  you  are,"  Lucinda  retorted,  shocked  into  gasping 
coherence  by  this  impudence.  "I  can't  imagine  a  greater 
surprise  ..." 

"I  believe  you.  But  think  of  mine — I  mean,  of  course, 
my  astonishment." 

Bel  would  have  her  hand,  there  was  no  refusing  him 
that  open  sign  of  friendship ;  for  an  instant  Lucinda  let  it 
rest  limply  in  his  grasp,  appreciating  there  was  nothing  she 
could  do  now  but  take  his  cues  as  they  fell,  and  treat  the 
rencontre  as  one  of  the  most  welcome  she  had  ever  expe- 
rienced .  .  . 

"But  wherever  did  you  bob  up  from,  Bel  ?" 

"From  the  East,  naturally — last  night's  train.  The 
Alexandria  told  me  where  you'd  moved,  the  Hollywood 
directed  me  to  your  studio,  somebody  there  said  you  might 


208  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

be  found  out  here — 'working  on  location,'  think  he  called 
it.  So  took  a  chance — and  here  I  an?.  Hope  you  don't 
mind  ..." 

"Mind?    Why  should  I?" 

"Couldn't  be  sure  I  wasn't  violating  Hollywood  eti- 
quette. Never  saw  a  movie  in  the  making  before,  you 
know.  Most  entertaining.  Congratulate  you  and  Mr. 
Summerlad  on  the  way  you  played  your  little  scene  just 
now.  Only  for  the  camera  over  there,  I'd  have  sworn 
you  both  meant  it." 

"Don't  put  too  much  trust  in  the  camera,  Mr.  Druce," 
Summerlad  interposed  blandly.  "Rumour  to  the  con- 
trary notwithstanding,  the  blame'  thing  has  been  known 
to  lie." 

"H'are  you,  Mr.  Summerlad?"  Bellamy  met  his  impu- 
dence with  irresistible  audacity.  "So  we  meet  again. 
Sure  we  would  some  day.  Well :  pleasanter  circumstances 
than  last  time,  what  ?" 

"Conditions  are  what  one  makes  them,  out  here  in  Cali- 
fornia. I  hope  you'll  find  the  climate  healthier  than  Chi- 
cago's." 

"Trust  me  for  that,"  Bellamy  retorted  in  entire  good- 
humour.  "But,  I  say" — he  glanced  in  feigned  apprehen- 
sion toward  the  camera — "not  obstructing  traffic,  am  I  ?" 

"No  fear,  or  Jacques  would  've  bawled  you  out  long 
ago." 

"  'Sright,"  Jacques  averred,  coming  forward  to  be  in- 
troduced. "All  through  for  today,  folks,"  he  called  back. 
"Le's  go!" 

Breaking  into  small  knots  and  straggling  off  to  the 
waiting  motor-cars,  the  company  prepared  for  its  jour- 
ney home,  while  cameras  and  properties  were  packed  up 
and  the  horses  herded  away  toward  their  overnight  quar- 
ters in  Azusa. 

Slender,  fair,  insouciant,  looking  a  precocious  little 
girl  in  her  extravagantly  brief  skirts,  but  with  all  the  wis- 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  209 

dom  of  Eve  a-glimmer  in  her  wide  eyes,  Fanny  sauntered 
up  and  permitted  Bellamy  to  be  presented. 

"My  chaperon,"  Lucinda  explained  with  the  false  vi- 
vacity of  overtaut  nerves —  "the  straight-laced  conservator 
of  les  convenances." 

"I  hope  very  truly,"  Bel  asserted,  bowing  over  Fanny's 
hand — "you  never  need  one  less  charming  or  more  com- 
plaisant." 

Fanny  giggled,  enjoying  the  contretemps  hugely  and 
determined  it  shouldn't  lose  savour  for  want  of  ambigu- 
ous seasoning. 

"As  for  complaisance,  the  camera  covers  a  multitude  of 
indiscretions.  That  aside" — her  glance  coupled  Lucinda 
and  Summerlad  in  delicately  malicious  innuendo —  "tak- 
ing one  consideration  with  another,  a  chaperon's  lot  is 
not  a  vapid  one." 

"I'm  sure  of  that,"  Bellamy  agreed  with  a  straight  face. 
"Not  only  that,  but  if  you've  any  time  at  all  to  spare  for 
your  job,  Mrs.  Lontaine,  the  percentage  of  impaired  eye- 
sight among  native  sons  must  be  high." 

"Appreciation  is  such  a  beautiful  thing !"  Fanny  purred. 
"Dear  man !  I  do  hope  you'll  be  lingering  in  our  midst  a 
long,  long  time." 

"No  such  luck  for  me.  A  few  days  at  most.  I  only 
ran  out  to  go  over  some  matters  with  my  man  of  business 
out  here." 

"The  square-headed  body  with  the  blue  gimlet  eyes?" 
Fanny  enquired,  openly  appraising  the  person  who  had 
accompanied  Bellamy  to  this  meeting,  but  who  remained 
in  the  car  with  stony  gaze  riveted  on  nothing  in  particu- 
lar—  "who  looks  like  a  private  detective  in  a  five-reel  re- 
hash of  the  eternal  triangle?" 

"The  same." 

"You  have  so  many  interests  in  California,  you  need  a 
man  on  the  spot  to  look  after  them?" 

"Not  many  but,  such  as  they  are,  of  prime  importance 
to  me,"  Bellamy  corrected  with  meaning. 


210  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

"How  romantic !"  Fanny  sighed,  with  a  look  so  provo- 
cative that  Bellamy's  mouth  twitched  involuntarily  and  he 
hoped  fervently  that  Lucinda  wasn't  looking. 

He  needn't  have  worried.  Lucinda  was  too  thoroughly 
occupied  with  her  own  reactions  to  the  several  more  agi- 
tating aspects  of  this  predicament  to  have  any  thoughts 
to  spare  for  frivolous  by-issues. 

Not  only  that,  but  in  pace  with  the  growth  of  her  in- 
terest in  Summerlad,  the  sense  of  detachment  from  all  ac- 
tual relationship  to  Bellamy  had  come  to  be  so  absolute  it 
could  never  have  occurred  to  her  to  be  anything  but  en- 
tertained by  the  notion  of  a  reciprocal  interest  springing 
up  between  Fanny  Lontaine  and  her  husband.  Fanny 
knew  her  way  about,  in  the  by-ways  of  flirtation  was  as 
sure  of  foot  as  any  chamois  on  its  native  crags.  As  for 
Bellamy,  in  Lucinda's  sight  he  was  no  longer  property  of 
hers,  he  was  free  to  follow  the  list  of  his  whim,  free  as 
the  wind,  as  free  as  herself  .  .  . 

But  the  bare  conception  of  anything  of  the  sort  was  far 
from  her  mind  just  then,  too  many  graver  considerations 
were  making  imperative  demands.  To  begin  with,  she 
was  at  one  and  the  same  time  grateful  to  Bellamy  for 
being  so  decent  about  her  assumed  identity  and  in  a  rag- 
ing temper  with  him  for  having  dared  to  follow  her  across 
the  Continent,  in  sequel  to  the  even  more  intolerable  in- 
solence of  setting  detectives  to  spy  upon  her.  No  more 
than  in  Fanny's  mind  was  there  question  in  Lucinda's  as 
to  the  real  calling  of  that  "man  of  business"  whom  Bel- 
lamy had  left  in  his  car.  But  she  earnestly  wanted  to 
know  how  long  and  how  closely  that  one  had  been  her 
shadow,  and  what  he  had  reported  concerning  the  inter- 
ests professional  and  social  which  had  been  engaging  her. 

More  than  this,  Lucinda  was  at  a  loss  to  think  how  to 
deal  with  Bel,  now  he  was  here.  Patently  on  his  good 
behaviour,  taking  care  of  himself,  not  drinking  too  much ; 
more  like  the  man  she  had  married  for  love  so  long  ago ; 
showing  so  vast  an  improvement  over  the  Bellamy  of  later 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  211 

years  that  his  unpretending  presence  alone  somehow  was 
enough  to  diminish  the  stature  of  every  man  present  and 
place  even  Summerlad  on  the  defensive — Lynn  Summer- 
lad,  the  crowned  exquisite  of  the  screen ! — obviously  the 
Bel  of  today  was  not  to  be  reckoned  with  as  readily  as  one 
had  reckoned  with  the  drink-stupid,  conscience-racked  Bel 
of  yesterday. 

Disturbed  by  the  sound  of  a  voice  addressing  her  in  a 
tone  pitched  to  pass  unheard  by  Bellamy,  she  lifted  per- 
plexed eyes  to  Summerlad's  face. 

"You're  dining  with  me  tonight.    Don't  forget." 

"I  don't  know    ..."  Lucinda  doubted.  "Ought  I  ?" 

"Why  on  earth  not  ?  Surely  you  wont  let  him  influence 
you  ?" 

"I  don't  know  what's  best.  It  might  be  better  to  see 
him  tonight  and  get  it  over  with." 

"Don't  be  foolish.  Besides,  I'm  telling  you,  not  asking 
you.  I'll  call  for  you  as  soon  as  I  can  get  home,  change, 
and  run  back  to  the  Hollywood." 

She  liked  and  resented  this  dictation,  and  showed  both 
emotions  in  a  semi-petulant  smile  which  she  intended  as 
a  preface  to  a  retort  that  was  never  uttered.  For  Bel- 
lamy interrupted,  and  immediately  she  was  glad  of  Sum- 
merlad's insistence  and  forgave  him. 

"Anxious  to  see  you,  Linda,  of  course,  and  have  a  talk, 
some  time  when  you're  not  professionally  engaged.  To- 
night be  agreeable?" 

"Sorry,  Bel,  but  I'm  booked  for  tonight." 

"Tomorrow,  then?" 

"But  tomorrow  night  Cindy  has  a  date  with  us,"  Fanny 
objected. 

"I'm  out  of  luck.  Never  mind :  I  know  Linda  won't 
keep  me  in  suspense  forever." 

"No :  you  may  call  on  me  the  next  night,  Bel." 

"That  will  be  Friday.  At  the  Hollywood,  of  course? 
Many  thanks.  And  now  I  mustn't  keep  you,  it's  a  long 


212  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

ride  back  and  you  must  be  quite  tired  out  with  your  long 
day's  work,  the  emotional  strain  and  everything." 

Bellamy  was  punctiliously  gallant  about  helping  Lu- 
cinda  and  Fanny  into  their  car,  then  returned  to  his  own, 
wagging  a  cavalier  farewell  to  Summerlad  as  the  latter 
sped  away  with  Jacques  in  the  orange-and-black  jugger- 
•naut. 

When  they  had  been  some  time  under  way  Fanny  broke 
in  upon  Lucinda's  meditations  with  an  ecstatic  murmur: 
"Priceless!" 

Lucinda  came  to  with  a  frown.  "I'm  glad  you  think  so," 
she  said  shortly. 

"Don't  be  upstage.  You  know  it's  priceless.  Why 
didn't  you  tell  me  your  Bel  was  such  a  lamb?" 

"He's  not  my  Bel  any  more,  and  I  don't  consider  him 
a  lamb." 

"Then  I  presume  you've  no  objection  to  my  vamping 
him?" 

"None  whatever,  if  it  amuses  you,  dear.  But  why  waste 
your  powder  on  such  small  game  ?  Any  pretty  piece  can 
vamp  Bel.  I'm  not  sure  she  need  even  be  pretty." 

"Only  for  your  sake,  darling.  I  don't  fancy  the  brute, 
thanks." 

"For  my  sake?" 

"Don't  you  see  through  his  little  game  ?  He's  out  here 
to  persuade  you  he's  a  changed  man,  a  reformed  charac- 
ter, and  beg  you  to  take  him  back  on  probation." 

"Then  he's  far  stupider  than  I  imagined." 

"Whereas  if  he  falls  for  my  girlish  wiles,  I'll  have 
shown  him  up  in  all  his  deceitfulness." 

"Don't  put  yourself  out  on  my  account."  Lucinda 
curled  a  lip.  "I  wouldn't  take  Bel  back  no  matter  how 
absolute  his  reformation." 

Fanny  wanted  to  ask  more  questions  but,  heeding  the 
counsel  of  discretion,  contented  herself  with  a  little  pri- 
vate sigh.  Going  on  her  tone,  Lucinda  quite  meant  what 
she  had  just  said.  Good  news  for  Harry,  whose  plans 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  213 

would  be  seriously  embarrassed  if  there  were  any  real 
reason  to  fear  the  defection  of  Lucinda  through  reconcil- 
iation with  her  husband.  For  of  course,  if  she  took  Druce 
on  again,  it  would  mean  an  end  to  the  still  young  history 
of  Linda  Lee :  Druce  never  would  consent  to  let  his  wife 
continue  in  the  picture  business. 

"All  the  same,  if  you  don't  mind,  I  think  I'll  practise 
on  Bellamy." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind.    But  Harry  might." 

"Oh,  Harry !"  Fanny  had  a  laugh  of  light  scorn.  "For 
all  Harry  cares !" 

But  Lucinda  was  inattentive;  she  had  lapsed  swiftly 
into  an  abstraction  which  had  little  or  nothing  to  do  with 
the  unseasonable  reappearance  of  Bellamy  or  the  prospect 
of  a  wearing  time  with  him  before  he  could  be  finally  dis- 
couraged. Whatever  proposals  Bel  might  wish  to  make, 
the  answer  to  them  all  stood  immutably  decreed  by  Lu- 
cinda's  heart. 

It  was  not  with  matters  of  such  certainty  that  she  was 
concerned,  but  with  the  problematical  issue  of  the  Sum- 
merlad  affair,  an  issue  whose  imminence  was  to  be  meas- 
ured now  by  hours.  Nothing  that  had  happened  since 
had  served  to  erase  the  impression  of  that  first  kiss,  noth- 
ing conceivable  could  seem  half  so  momentous.  The  pres- 
ence of  the  camera  had  meant  nothing,  they  had  kissed  in 
earnest;  mute,  her  lips  had  confessed  too  much.  It  re- 
mained only  to  be  determined  whether  or  not  Summerlad 
had  understood  their  message.  If  he  had,  Lucinda  well 
knew,  she  was  a  lost  woman. 

She  was  possessed  with  a  species  of  rapturous 
alarm  .  * 


XXVIII 

IN  sequel  Lucinda  knew  two  days  made  up  of  emotions 
singularly  stratified.  This  notwithstanding  the  fact 
(of  which  she  needed  to  remind  herself  with  provoking 
frequency)  that  she  had  put  Bel  out  of  her  life  for  good 
and  all,  he  was  less  than  nothing  to  her  now  and,  in  the 
simple  nature  of  things,  seeing  she  was  pledged  to  another, 
never  could  be  more — more,  at  least,  than  the  trial  his 
pertinacity  was  rendering  him  at  present. 

Most  of  the  time,  of  course,  all  of  it  spent  with  Lynn 
or  in  dreaming  of  him,  she  was  merely  but  comprehen- 
sibly a  young  woman  in  love  and  glad  of  it ;  pleased  with 
herself,  pleased  with  her  lover,  delighting  in  the  sweet 
secrecy  with  which  it  were  seemly  for  the  while  to  screen 
their  love. 

Nevertheless,  dark  hours  alternated  in  apprehension  of 
what  she  was  resolved  must  be  her  final  talk  with  Bel. 
But  how  successful  dared  she  hope  to  be  in  the  business 
of  making  Bel  agree  even  to  that?  Lucinda  found  it  by 
no  means  easy  to  compose  an  attitude  which  she  could 
depend  upon  to  dishearten  Bel  decisively,  without  going 
to  the  length  of  telling  him  point-blank  that  she  was  in 
love  with  another  man  and  meant  to  marry  him  as  soon 
as  her  professional  commitments  would  leave  her  free  to 
go  through  the  mill  of  Reno.  And  to  know  Bellamy  as 
she  did  was  to  have  a  good  warrant  for  mistrusting  lest, 
far  from  reeling  down  to  defeat  under  the  impact  of  that 
revelation,  he  might  be  moved  merely  to  make  fun  of  it. 
It  would  be  just  like  Bel  to  refuse  to  believe  that  Lucinda 
Druce  nee  Harrington  meant  to  marry  a  movie  actor. 

"Go  ahead,  Linda,  by  all  means  divorce  me  if  your 
214 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  215 

heart's  set  on  it" — one  could  almost  hear  him  say  it — "but 
don't  tell  me  you're  doing  it  just  to  marry  a  man  who 
paints  his  nose  for  a  living." 

Somehow  one  got  scant  comfort  of  the  retort  obvious, 
that  if  Lynn  did  paint  his  nose  he  at  least  did  it  with 
nothing  more  harmful  than  paint. 

At  all  costs,  then,  she  must  avoid  the  risk  of  telling  Bel 
what  she  intended,  and  keep  the  tone  of  the  impending 
scene  in  tune  with  the  dignity  which  she  had  thus  far 
been  successful  in  maintaining,  be  firm  but  cool,  and  give 
him  clearly  to  understand  it  was  hopeless  his  attempting 
to  make  whole  again  that  sacred  vessel  which  his  impious 
hands  had  shattered. 

Maintained  upon  such  a  plane  that  scene  must  have 
been  both  beautiful  and  conclusive.  And  no  doubt  it 
would  have  been  so  but  for  one  circumstance :  Bel  not 
only  failed  to  call  on  Lucinda  at  the  time  appointed  but 
failed  even  to  send  word  of  apology  or  explanation.  An 
affront  whose  realization  transmuted  nobility  of  spirit 
into  resentment  most  humanly  rancorous. 

Lucinda  had  sacrificed  the  evening  to  sense  of  duty;  a 
true  sacrifice,  for  Lynn  was  leaving  early  next  morning 
to  spend  a  fortnight  with  his  company  in  an  Oregon  log- 
ging camp.  So  this  would  have  been  their  last  evening 
together  for  fourteen  livelong  days,  if  Lucinda  hadn't 
promised  it  to  Bellamy,  and  if  Summerlad  hadn't  mourn- 
fully agreed  (measurably  to  Lucinda's  disappointment  in 
him)  that  she  could  not  afford  to  dishonour  her  promise. 
Surely  their  secret  happiness  was  enough  to  compensate 
for  that  much  self-denial,  especially  when  it  meant  the 
last  of  Bellamy  .  .  . 

Losing  patience  after  hours  of  waiting,  Lucinda  called 
the  Alexandria  on  the  telephone,  and  was  informed  that 
Mr.  Druce  had  "checked  out"  early  in  the  morning,  saying 
nothing  of  an  intention  to  return. 

Mystified  even  more  than  angry,  Lucinda  went  to  bed, 
but  lay  wakeful  a  long  time  trying  to  fathom  the  enigma 


216  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

of  such  conduct  in  one  whose  need  of  her  had  brought 
him  all  the  way  across  America  to  beg  that  very  audience 
which  had  been  granted  only  to  be  coolly  ignored.  The 
readiest  explanation,  likewise  at  first  blush  the  likeliest, 
was  none  the  less  at  odds  with  the  premeditation  to  be 
read  in  Bel's  leaving  his  hotel  before  noon,  which  wasn't 
the  action  of  a  man  whom  drink  had  made  forgetful,  but 
rather  that  of  one  who  repented  his  haste  in  suing  for 
something  which  sober  second-thought  had  satisfied  him 
he  didn't  really  want. 

How  funny,  if  so !    How  very  human ! 

Lucinda  contributed  her  first  smile  since  nightfall  to  the 
darkness  of  her  bedchamber. 

But  having  smiled,  she  frowned  involuntarily     .     .     . 

No  note  came  from  Bellamy  the  next  morning,  and 
nothing  transpired  in  the  course  of  the  next  several  weeks 
to  afford  any  clue  to  the  riddle;  with  the  upshot  that 
Lucinda  thought  about  her  husband  a  great  deal  more 
than  she  wanted  to  or  had  at  any  time  since  leaving 
Chicago.  Curiosity  being  piqued  no  less  than  vanity, 
though  she  kept  assuring  herself  it  was  a  matter  of  indif- 
ference to  her  what  Bel  did  or  didn't  nowadays,  invariably 
the  consideration  followed  that,  all  the  same,  it  was 
strange,  it  wasn't  like  Bel  to  treat  any  woman  so  rudely. 

She  would,  in  those  days,  have  been  glad  and  grateful 
for  some  interest  so  absorbing  as  to  relegate  this  vexing 
question  to  the  realm  of  the  immaterial,  where  rightly 
it  belonged.  But,  with  Summerlad  away,  nothing  much 
happened  with  enervating  regularity,  the  most  interesting 
hours  Lucinda  knew  were  those  spent  in  her  rooms  wait- 
ing for  Lynn  to  call  up  on  the  long  distance  telephone. 
This  he  did  every  evening,  and  though  she  was  thus  daily 
provided  with  exhilarating  moments,  those  that  followed 
always  seemed  desperately  the  duller.  The  truth  was, 
lacking  the  sense  of  danger,  of  flirting  with  fire,  that  was 
intrinsic  in  their  love-making,  lacking  the  sense  of  doing 
something  that  she  oughtn't,  calmly  flouting  the  rigid 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  217 

code  of  her  caste  and  having  nothing  to  pay,  Lucinda  was 
beginning  to  find  her  environment  a  trifle  tiresome.  Say 
what  one  would,  there  was  a  certain  cloying  sameness 
about  it  all. 

Somebody  once  said  in  her  hearing  that  there  wasn't 
any  weather  in  Southern  California  but  only  climate.  And 
it  was  true  that  at  times  the  wonder  and  beauty  of  ever- 
lasting sunlight  seemed  a  poor  offset  to  its  monotony; 
so  that  Lucinda  would  sometimes  find  herself  grown  a 
little  weary  of  the  sky's  dense,  inexpressive,  day-long  blue; 
and  even  its  nightly  extravagance  of  stars  now  and  again 
impressed  her  as  being  too  persistently  spectacular,  an 
ostentation  on  the  part  of  Nature  as  tasteless  as  many 
jewels  plastered  on  a  woman's  pretty  bosom.  One  rather 
wanted  to  recommend  the  chiffon  of  clouds  .  .  . 

Then,  too,  one  grew  acquainted  with  certain,  definite 
limitations  restricting  the  amount  of  amusement  to  be  had 
of  taking  active  or  passive  part  in  the  simple,  rowdy 
pleasures  of  the  motion-picture  peerage.  When  one  had 
several  times  attended  the  festivities  these  staged  in  the 
public  resorts  most  in  favour  or  in  their  private  homes, 
one  was  apt  to  feel  moderately  surfeited  with  jazz  of  all 
sorts,  mental  and  moral  as  well  as  musical,  and  a  society 
made  up  in  the  main  of  men  who  thought  it  too  much 
trouble  to  dress  and  women  who  as  a  matter  of  habit 
airily  consummated  the  contradiction  of  being  at  one  and 
the  same  time  under  and  over-dressed.  And  once  the 
novelty  of  learning  to  speak  a  strange  tongue  had  worn 
off,  no  great  amount  of  intellectual  nourishment  was  to 
be  extracted  of  studio  shop-talk,  which  commonly  was 
concerned  in  the  ratio  of  one  to  ten  with  the  business  of 
making  motion-pictures  and  with  the  private,  broadly 
speaking,  lives  of  the  people  who  were  making  them,  lives 
seldom  held  worth  the  discussing  when  their  conduct  was 
decorous. 

Though  personal  liberty  of  action  and  freedom  of  speech 
be  part  of  the  inalienable  heritage  of  the  American  people,. 


218  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

it  was  the  sum  of  Luanda's  observation  that  in  the  studios 
both  were  practised  to  the  point  of  abandon.  She  con- 
sidered herself  the  most  liberal-minded  of  women,  the  life 
she  had  led  till  now  had  left  her  few  illusions,  she  had 
even  been  known  to  enunciate  an  aphorism  in  the  sense 
that  hypocrisy  is  a  lubricant  essential  to  the  mechanism  of 
society :  here,  however,  she  remarked,  such  lubrication  was 
so  generally  dispensed  with  that  oftentimes  the  bearings 
screeched  to  Heaven. 

But  Heaven  made  no  sign,  and  the  Hollywood  of  active 
and  retired  tradespeople,  to  which  the  studios  had  brought 
prosperity  beyond  its  maddest  dreams,  stuffed  its  ears  and 
made  believe  there  was  nothing  to  hear. 

As  for  the  studios,  busy,  complacent,  and  well-content 
to  be  spared  the  troublesome  necessity  of  pretending  to  be 
better  than  they  were,  they  forgot  (if,  indeed,  they  ever 
stopped  to  think)  that  they  did  not  constitute  the  whole 
of  the  community,  and  chuckled  openly  over  a  saying  that 
ran  their  rounds  that  season,  the  mot  of  one  of  their 
own  wits: 

"Are  you  married  ?    Or  do  you  live  in  Hollywood  ?" 


XXIX 

LUCINDA  had  by  now  become  sufficiently  conversant 
with  the  ways  of  directors  to  hear  without  much 
surprise — if  with  a  little  sinking  of  her  lonely  heart — the 
news  which  Summerlad  had  to  communicate  on  the  tenth 
day  of  his  absence,  when  he  telephoned  that  Jacques  was 
threatening  to  find  a  fortnight  too  little  for  the  work  that 
had  taken  the  company  away  from  Los  Angeles. 

And  the  next  day,  when  she  paid  the  studio  the  per- 
functory call  of  routine — to  learn,  as  usual,  that  Barry 
Nolan  had  as  yet  sent  no  word  concerning  the  date  when 
he  expected  to  begin  directing  for  Linda  Lee  Inc. — 
Lucinda  saw,  as  she  left  her  car  in  front  of  the  admin- 
istration building,  the  owner  of  the  premises  lounging 
against  one  of  the  fluted  columns  of  the  portico  and  mum- 
bling an  unlighted  cigar,  and  got  from  him  a  moody  nod 
instead  of  the  beaming  salutation  he  had  taught  her  to 
expect. 

Himself  a  monstrously  homely  man,  short,  stout  and 
swart,  Zinn  had  an  alert  eye  for  feminine  good  looks, 
which  had  never  before  neglected  to  give  Lucinda  to 
understand  that  it  was  on  her  and  humid  with  approba- 
tion. 

By  birth  a  Russian  Jew,  offspring  of  immigrants  from 
Odessa,  Isadore  Zinn  had  worked  his  way  into  the  pro- 
ducing business,  as  the  saying  ran,  through  its  backdoor ; 
that  is  to  say,  from  the  exhibitors'  side.  Indefatigable 
industry  and  appetite  for  hardship  coupled  with  quench- 
less greed  and  a  complete  absence  of  scruples  and  moral 
sense,  had  promoted  him  from  the  office  of  usher  in  a 
"nickelodeon"  of  the  cinema's  early  days  successively  to 
219 


220  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

be  the  proprietor  of  the  enterprise,  organizer  of  a  chain 
of  motion-picture  theatres,  and  president  of  a  league  of 
exhibitors,  which  last  had  eventually  pooled  its  resources 
and  gone  into  the  business  of  producing  as  well  as  that 
of  showing  pictures.  The  money  of  this  league  had  built 
what  were  today  the  Zinn  Studios ;  just  how  this  property 
had  come  to  pass  into  Zinn's  sole  possession  was  a  matter 
of  secret  history  concerning  which  there  were  many  ru- 
mours, all  unsavory.  Zinn  was  reputed  by  his  loving  em- 
ployees to  set  no  more  store  by  a  dollar  than  by  an  eye- 
tooth  or  an  only  child. 

On  leaving,  half  an  hour  later,  Lucinda  found  the  man 
in  the  same  spot  and  pose.  Apparently  he  had  not  moved 
a  muscle  in  that  interval.  She  paused  to  ask  why,  and  was 
frankly  told. 

"I'm  figuring  on  killing  a  director,  Miss  Lee,  and  won- 
dering if  maybe  I  couldn't  get  away  with  it.  I  could  all 
right,  if  you  only  could  believe  all  you  hear.  You  ask 
any  of  them  fellers  in  there" — Zinn  jerked  his  head  toward 
the  building  behind  him — "takes  my  good  money  and  calls 
me  Mister  Zinn — and  they'll  tell  you  I  get  away  with  mur- 
der every  day  or  worse."  He  sighed  dismally.  "If  they 
was  any  truth  in  that,  I'd  be  a  happy  kike  and  a  lot  of 
directors'  wives  wouldn't  have  nothing  on  their  minds  no 
more,  only  their  hair.  The  way  I  am  today,  the  first  one 
I'd  take  a  load  off  her  intellect  would  be  Mrs.  Jacques." 
"I  didn't  know  Mr.  Jacques  was  married." 
"Maybe  he  ain't  right  now,  it's  hard  to  tell.  You  take 
actors  and  directors,  they're  all  the  same,  you  never  know 
when  they  ain't  married  or  how  long  they  been  that 
way.  The  way  it  seems  to  me,  they  get  married  off  and 
on  just  to  see  what  difference  it  will  make  if  any.  'Most 
everybody  you  know's  got  a  loose  wife  or  husband  kicking 
around  somewhere  this  side  the  Cajon  Pass.  The  only 
way  you  can  keep  track  of  them  is  don't  try." 

"It  must  be  frightfully  embarrassing  at  times     ..." 
"Ah,  they  don't  mind !    I  had  one  little  feller  working 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  221 

for  me,  playing  leads  in  two-reel  comedies,  his  director 
was  his  first  Wife's  second  husband,  and  the  little  lady 
played  opposite  him  was  his  second  wife  once  removed. 
They  got  along  fine  s'long's  they  was  on  the  lot,  but  out- 
side the  studio  they  wouldn't  speak,  only  bark  when  they 
passed." 

"But  you  haven't  told  me  what  Mr.  Jacques  has  been 
doing  ..." 

"Oh,  him — !  I  got  a  wire  from  him  just  now,  says  he's 
going  to  have  to  keep  the  Summerlad  outfit  up  in  that 
logging  camp  maybe  another  couple  weeks.  Joe  could  of 
shot  all  the  scenes  he  had  to  shoot  up  there  in  a  week  if 
he'd  of  went  at  it  the  right  way ;  so  I  give  him  two  weeks, 
and  now  he  wants  four.  And  I  don't  dare  give  him  the 
razz  for  fear  he'll  make  it  six  weeks  or  quit." 

"But  if  you  aren't  satisfied,  surely  you  can  find  another 
director." 

"Sure  I  can.  And  the  first  thing  he'll  do  is  run  all  the 
rushes  in  the  projection-room  and  tell  me  they're  rotten 
and  got  to  be  retook  the  way  he  sees  it.  And  then  he'll 
rewrite  the  continuity  and,  just  to  show  me  what  a  low 
piker  Jacques  was,  he'll  stick  in  a  lot  of  new  stuff  that'll 
cost  maybe  another  hundred  thousand  dollars." 

"I  don't  understand,"  Lucinda  objected.  "Why  should 
Mr.  Jacques  deliberately  waste  time  on  a  production?" 

"He's  getting  his  two  thousand  a  week,  ain't  he  ?  And 
if  he  makes  this  picture  cost  less  than  the  last  one  Sum- 
merlad done,  how's  he  going  to  keep  his  tail  up  with  the 
other  dogs,  next  time  the  hooch  hounds  meets  down 
to  Santa  Monica?  Not  only  that,  if  he  should  ever  get 
a  rep  for  making  pictures  quick  and  cheap,  the  only  jobs 
he'll  be  offered  will  mean  honest-to-God  work." 

"But,  Mr.  Zinn:  if  that's  the  usual  director's  attitude 
toward  his  job,  I  should  think  you  would  do  as  we're 
doing  with  Mr.  Nolan,  pay  each  a  fixed  sum  for  every 
production  he  makes." 


222  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

Zinn  drew  down  the  corners  of  his  mouth  in  sour  pity 
for  Lucinda's  innocence.  "Twenty-five  thousand  a  pic- 
ture's what  Nolan's  going  to  drag  down,  ain't  it?  When 
a  director  gets  that  class,  he's  doing  you  a  favour  to  make 
pictures  for  you,  to  start  off  with;  and  then  he  spreads 
himself  to  spend  more  coin  more  ways  than  any  other 
director  ever  thought  of,  just  to  show  you  he's  the  big- 
money  boy.  A  director  don't  think  big  means  anything 
without  a  dollar-mark  parked  in  front  of  it;  and  the 
producer's  the  poor  sap  that  puts  up  the  dollar-mark 
every  time.  They's  only  one  way  a  producer  can  beat  a 
director,  the  way  it  is  today,  and  that's  quit  the  fillum 
business  cold." 

"I  presume  that's  what  you'll  do,  if  the  directors 
persist  in  making  it  impossible  for  you  to  make  any 
money." 

A  twinkle  kindled  in  the  beady  eyes,  a  rougishly  confi- 
dential grin  formed  on  the  fleshy  features.  "Now,  listen, 
Miss  Lee :  I  never  told  you  I  wasn't  making  money,  did 
I  ?  It's  the  jack  directors  waste  on  me  I'm  kicking  about. 
Any  time  things  get  so  bad  you  can't  give  one  of  them 
megaphone  nurses  his  head  and  still  get  your  production 
cost  back  and  something  over,  I  got  it  all  framed  so  I  can 
ease  out  and  never  be  missed." 

And  when  Lucinda  had  obliged  by  voicing  a  polite  doubt 
that  such  a  thing  as  this  could  ever  come  to  pass,  Zinn 
concluded  with  grim  humour :  "I  got  everything  all  set  to 
sell  the  studio  to  the  county  for  an  insane  asylum ;  then 
nobody  in  Hollywood  won't  never  know  the  difference." 

Running  true  to  the  form  thus  forecast,  Jacques  kept 
the  Summerlad  company  away  so  long  that  its  return 
found  the  first  Linda  Lee  production  in  full  swing,  with 
Barry  Nolan  in  command,  Lucinda  playing  the  supple 
puppet  of  his  whim  from  sun  to  sun,  Fanny  demurely 
walking  through  the  feminine  part  of  second  importance, 
and  Lontaine  functioning  at  the  peak  of  his  capacity  as 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  223 

executive  genius  of  the  organization  and  showing  the 
strain  of  it  all  in  his  prominent  blue  eyes. 

Why  it  should  be  so  hard  on  him  nobody  seemed  to 
know  and  Lontaine  was  too  busy  to  explain;  while  Lu- 
cinda,  in  the  prepossession  of  her  anxiety  to  give  a  good 
account  of  herself  before  the  camera,  carelessly  accepted 
that  prodigious  display  of  activity,  that  mien  of  unremit- 
ting abstraction,  as  phenomena  doubtless  common  to  men 
of  affairs,  and  never  paused  to  wonder  why  Lontaine 
need  be  so  fretted  and  fretful  when  everything  was  now 
in  the  hands  of  Nolan  and  his  assistants,  who  did  pretty 
much  as  they  pleased  anyway,  as  a  rule  consulting  Lon- 
taine if  at  all  only  after  acting  on  their  own  initiative  and 
leaving  to  his  office  merely  the  routine  of  financial  matters. 

Nevertheless  Lontaine  was  ever  the  first  of  the  Linda 
Lee  forces  to  show  up  at  the  studio  in  the  morning,  the 
last  to  leave  it  at  night,  and  between  whiles  kept  inces- 
santly on  the  go :  trotting  from  his  desk  to  the  stage  to 
give  Nolan  the  benefit  of  advice  which  was  invariably 
attended  to  with  much  patience  and  disregarded  with  more 
promptitude  as  soon  as  its  source  turned  his  back ;  to  the 
laboratory  to  run  a  wise  eye  over  negative  newly  devel- 
oped as  it  came  dripping  from  the  vats  to  be  stretched  to 
dry  upon  huge  revolving  drums ;  to  the  studio  of  the  tech- 
nical director,  to  badger  that  competent  and  long-suffering 
gentleman  about  sets  and  their  dressing;  to  Zinn's  sanc- 
tum overlooking  the  "lot,"  where  that  old-timer  sat  spying 
out  on  the  comings  and  goings  of  his  employees  and  spin- 
ning his  endless  schemes  of  avarice,  but  ever  ready  to 
lend  an  ear  and  give  cunning  counsel  to  a  tenant  who  paid 
his  rent  on  the  nail ;  to  the  projection-rooms  to  view  the 
rushes ;  back  to  the  stage  to  flatter  Lucinda,  felicitate 
Nolan,  and  buttonhole  subordinate  players  for  earnest 
conferences  apart  concerning  their  performances — this 
last  a  habit  which,  since  it  afforded  the  actors  a  chance  to 
talk  about  themselves,  earned  Lontaine  the  loving  grati- 
tude of  all  hands,  barring  the  directorial  staff  whose  job  it 


224  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

was  to  undo  all  that  he  did,  were  it  well  done  or  ill,  for  the 
sake  of  morale  and  to  preserve  unimpaired  the  precious 
prestige  of  Barry  Nolan. 

At  other  times  members  of  the  cast  loafing  about  the  lot 
while  they  waited  to  be  called  to  work  on  the  stage,  would 
observe  the  president  of  Linda  Lee  Inc.,  at  the  window 
of  his  tiny  office  in  the  administration  building,  brooding 
portentously  over  documents  of  legal  aspect,  or  with  fine 
flourishes  of  the  fountain-pen  affixing  his  hand  to  those 
cheques  which,  issuing  forth  in  a  steady  stream,  kept  the 
treasury  always  at  low  ebb  no  matter  how  often  or  how 
generously  Lucinda  might  replenish  it. 

Neither  did  the  silver-and-blue  car  know  overmuch  rest. 
In  view  of  the  man's  ubiquity  in  the  studio,  it  was  surpris- 
ing how  often  Lontaine  was  to  be  seen  speeding  down 
Sunset  Boulevard,  bound  for  the  business  centre  of  Los 
Angeles,  to  other  studios  for  mysterious  conferences  with 
local  somebodies  who  had  no  known  interest  in  the  des- 
tinies of  Linda  Lee  Inc.,  or  to  objectives  whose  nature 
remained  a  close  secret  between  Lontaine,  his  chauffeur, 
and  his  God. 

To  all  these  picturesque  symptoms  of  hustle  and  bounce, 
so  little  in  character  with  the  Briton  of  tradition,  his  wife 
played  silent  but  attentive  audience;  though  oftentimes 
her  pretty  eyes  would  light  up  with  an  unspoken  comment 
too  pungent  to  be  wasted  and,  discreetly  questing  a  sym- 
pathetic confidant  would  find  it  without  fail  in  Barry 
Nolan,  who  learned  to  watch  for  that  look  whenever  one 
of  Lontaine's  antics  made  a  more  than  everyday  appeal  to 
his  sense  of  humour. 

Irish  both  by  descent  and  profession,  Nolan  had  at 
least  that  sense  conspicuously  developed.  What  others  he 
possessed  of  which  as  much  might  be  asserted,  was  a  ques- 
tion which  came  to  occupy  many  of  Lucinda's  spare  mo- 
ments. She  was  not  at  all  disposed  to  be  hypercritical,  in 
the  beginning,  she  had  yet  to  cultivate  conceit  in  her  abil- 
ities as  an  actress,  she  knew  that  she  knew  little  more 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  225 

than  nothing  about  the  manufacture  of  motion-pictures ; 
and  Summerlad  had  so  highly  recommended  Nolan  she 
inclined  to  suspect  there  must  be  something  radically 
wrong  with  her  judgment.  With  all  this,  she  couldn't 
pretend  to  account  for  Nolan's  high  place  in  the  hierarchy 
of  the  cinema,  unless  a  sprightly  and  affectionate  disposi- 
tion, a  fetching  grin,  infectious  verve,  impudence  without 
end,  and  a  distinctly  indicated  vein  of  genius  at  crap- 
shooting,  summed  up  the  essential  qualifications  of  a  di- 
rector who  pretended  to  earn  a  wage  of  twenty-five 
thousand  dollars  per  production.  Certainly  nothing  that 
Nolan  was  contributing  to  this  present  picture,  in  the  way 
of  action,  business,  sense  of  dramatic  proportion  and  feel- 
ing for  pictorial  values,  appealed  as  in  any  way  inspired — 
except  occasionally  by  a  retentive  memory. 

True  that  common  usage  in  methods  of  production, 
working  together  with  such  special  circumstances  as  Lu- 
cinda's  inexperience  and  the  absence  of  any  fixed  plan  of 
plot  development  other  than  in  the  omniscience  of  Barry 
Nolan,  made  it  anything  but  easy  to  judge  the  man 
fairly  by  the  record  of  his  work  from  day  to  day. 

In  the  continuity  which  Nolan  concocted  to  supplant 
that  prepared  by  Zinn's  staff  writer — as  in  every  proper 
continuity — each  scene  had  been  placed  in  its  right  se- 
quence, where  anybody  uninstructed  in  the  way  of  a  di- 
rector with  a  picture  might  reasonably  look  to  see  it  appear 
in  the  completed  photoplay.  But  as  soon  as  the  typist  had 
transcribed  Nolan's  dictation,  the  new  continuity  was 
turned  over  to  his  assistants  to  be  dismembered  and  rebuilt 
with  its  scenes  arranged  as  they  were  to  be  photographed, 
by  groups,  without  respect  to  chronological  sequence. 

Obviously  it  would  be  stupid  (as  Lucinda  was  quick  to 
appreciate)  to  take  the  scenes  as  laid  out  in  the  continuity; 
for  example,  to  photograph  Scene  1  in  a  studio  set,  trans- 
port the  company  ten  miles  to  photograph  Scene  2  on,  say, 
an  ocean  beach,  and  jump  back  to  the  studio  to  take  Scene 
3  on  the  same  set  as  used  for  Scene  1.  Consequently  all 


226  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

scenes  indicated  for  each  particular  set  were  shot  seriatim ; 
after  which  the  set  would  be  promptly  demolished,  to  clear 
the  stage  for  the  erection  of  another. 

It  resulted  from  this  that  only  an  intelligence  compre- 
hending the  whole  plan  and  scope  of  both  story  and  con- 
tinuity could  have  kept  track  of  the  scenes  as  photographed 
and  rated  each  rightly  at  its  proportional  value.  Even  in 
the  ranks  of  studio  veterans,  minds  of  such  force  and 
grasp  are  few  and  far  to  seek.  The  Linda  Lee  company 
hadn't  been  at  work  two  days  before  Lucinda  began  to  feel 
in  relation  to  the  story  like  one  lost  in  a  fog,  helplessly  de- 
pendent upon  the  guiding  hand  of  Barry  Nolan,  and  none 
too  well  satisfied  that  he  knew  his  way  about  as  well  as  he 
pretended  to  in  that  beclouded  labyrinth. 

Neither  was  confidence  in  his  infallibility  encouraged 
by  a  habit  to  which  he,  like  most  directors,  proved  lament- 
ably prone,  of  improvising  improvements  on  the  story  as 
he  went  along.  All  of  a  sudden,  while  directing  a  scene, 
Nolan  was  wont  to  break  out  in  a  profuse  inspiration,  and 
incontinently  some  well- remembered  bit  of  business  or  epi- 
sode from  an  old  stage  success  would  be  interjected  into 
or  substituted  for  incidents  really  germane  to  the  original 
plot.  That  this  practice  as  often  as  not  produced  results 
in  conflict  with  the  fundamental  mechanics  of  the  story,  if 
it  missed  throwing  them  out  of  kilter  entirely,  seemed  to  be 
a  consideration  of  minor  consequence. 

Thus  Nolan  laboured  long  and  passionately  to  persuade 
Lucinda  it  would  benefit  the  story  to  engraft  on  it  a  scene 
wherein  she  would  figure  as  a  lonely  prisoner  in  a  garret, 
menaced  by  hordes  of  hungry  rats.  This  regardless  of 
the  fact  that  there  was  no  garret  in  the  original  story,  nor 
any  room  for  one,  and  no  reason  why  the  young  person 
portrayed  by  Lucinda  should  be  imprisoned  in  one,  but 
solely  because  Nolan  happened  to  fancy  a  resemblance  be- 
tween her  and  an  actress  whom  he  had  several  years 
before  directed  with  great  success  in  a  garret  scene  with 
rats  ad  lib. 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  227 

That  the  rats  didn't  work  their  way  into  the  picture 
eventually,  whether  Lucinda  wanted  them  or  not,  was 
mainly  due  to  Nolan's  misfortune  in  failing  to  think  of 
them  before  his  star  began  to  show  symptoms  of  what  he 
called  the  swelled-head ;  that  is  to  say  before,  having 
worked  several  weeks  under  his  direction,  Lucinda  began 
to  suspect  that  Nolan  wasn't  really  sole  custodian  of  the 
sacred  mystery  of  motion-picture  making,  and  to  assert 
herself  modestly  as  one  whose  views  ought  to  have  some 
weight  with  a  director  whose  pay  came  out  of  her  own 
pocket. 

Nor  is  she  to  this  day  ready  to  believe  that  Nolan,  left 
to  himself,  would  not  ultimately  have  overborne  all  oppo- 
sition and  had  his  willful  way  with  the  rat  episode. 

But  it  was  neither  because  of  this  instance,  nor  because 
of  other  arbitrary  changes  that  Nolan  made  in  the  story, 
that  Lucinda  first  learned  to  mistrust  his  ability,  but  be- 
cause of  the  appalling  ignorance  which  he  betrayed  con- 
cerning what  she  believed  should  be  matters  of  general 
knowledge,  such  as  rudimentary  principles  of  social 
usage. 

Since  the  story  they  were  concerned  with  had  to  do  with 
people  of  fashionable  New  York  transacting  the  business 
of  life  in  their  homes  and  public  rendezvous,  Lucinda 
thought  it  important  that  their  manners  should  conform 
to  approved  convention ;  but  Nolan  was  so  little  learned  in 
such  matters,  and  his  impatience  with  them  was  so  whole- 
hearted, that  she  presently  abandoned  all  effort  to  correct 
him,  and  in  a  fatalistic  spirit  endeavoured  to  comfort  her 
misgivings  with  his  customary  rejoinder  to  advice  in  any 
form :  "Ah,  what's  it  matter  ?  Ninety  per  cent,  of  your 
audiences  are  solid  bone  from  the  neck  up,  and  the 
rest  wouldn't  think  they'd  got  their  money's  worth  unless 
they  found  something  to  beef  about  in  a  picture.  Why 
worry  about  little  things  like  that?  Life's  too  short,  and 
we're  wasting  time !" 

So  Lucinda  schooled  herself  to  suffer  in  silence  when 


228  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

she  saw  men  of  alleged  gentle  breeding  offer  women  their 
left  arms  to  escort  them  from  the  drawing  to  the  dining 
rooms  of  Fifth  avenue  or  when  two  bickered  in  public 
as  to  which  should  escort  to  her  home  a  woman  married 
to  a  third,  and  when  Nolan  posed  a  pair  of  lawless  lovers 
in  the  foyer  of  a  restaurant  and  instructed  them  to 
register  unutterable  emotion  by  holding  hands,  in  the  view 
of  hundreds,  and  swelling  their  tormented  bosoms  until 
(as  Fanny  described  it)  they  resembled  more  than  any- 
thing else  a  brace  of  pouter  pigeons  shaking  the  shimmy. 

She  held  her  peace  even  when  Nolan  directed  a  father 
and  his  son,  both  presumptive  adepts  in  the  social  life  of 
New  York,  to  pause  on  meeting,  when  each  was  decently 
turned  out  in  morning-coat  and  top  hat,  strike  atti- 
tudes of  awed  admiration,  solemnly  wheel  each  other 
round  by  the  shoulders  and,  wagging  dumbfoundered 
heads  over  the  sight  of  so  much  sartorial  splendour,  ex- 
claim— in  subtitles  to  be  inserted  in  the  film — "Some  boy !" 
"Some  Dad !" 

And  when  a  woman  in  a  scene  with  Lucinda  parted 
from  her,  uttering  an  injunction  put  in  her  mouth  by 
Nolan,  "Don't  forget,  dearie — tea  at  the  Ritz  at  one 
o'clock,"  Lucinda,  conceiving  this  to  be  a  slip  of  the 
tongue,  said  nothing.  But  when  later  she  viewed  in  the 
projection-room  that  sequence  of  scenes  roughly  assem- 
bled, with  what  are  termed  "scratch  titles,"  in  place,  and 
read  the  words  as  quoted,  and  on  making  enquiry  learned 
that  they  had  been  copied  verbatim  from  Mr.  Nolan's 
continuity,  she  ventured  to  remonstrate. 

"But,  Mr.  Nolan,  tea  is  a  function  for  four  o'clock  or 
later  all  the  world  over." 

"That's  so,  Miss  Lee?  Well,  what  d'you  know  about 
that?  Guess  I  must've  been  thinking  about  luncheon." 

"But  your  subtitle  introducing  the  restaurant  sequence 
later  on  says  'Tea  at  the  Ritz.'  " 

"That's  right.  I  remember  now,  I  meant  tea,  not 
luncheon.  It's  that  way  in  the  book." 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  229 

"But  in  the  restaurant  scenes  the  tables  are  covered 
with  cloths  and  the  waiters  are  serving  all  sorts  of  dishes, 
course  meals." 

"What's  the  matter  with  that?" 

"Why,  nothing  is  served  for  tea  but  tea  itself  and  toast 
and  perhaps  little  pastries." 

Nolan  grinned  sheepishly  and  scratched  his  head.  "I 
guess  we're  a  terrible  lot  of  roughnecks  out  here  on  the 
Coast,  Miss  Lee — not  onto  fine  points  like  that.  But  it's 
all  right:  we'll  change  the  subtitles  to  read  luncheon  in- 
stead of  tea." 

"But  you've  just  shown  me  lunching  at  another 
restaurant.  It  isn't  reasonable  to  make  me  eat  two 
luncheons  in  one  day." 

"That's  easy.  We'll  make  the  subtitle  read :  'Luncheon 
at  the  Ritz  the  next  day.'  " 

"I  hate  to  keep  on  objecting,  Mr.  Nolan,  but  the  situa- 
tion depends  on  these  people  meeting  at  tea  the  very  day 
they  lunched  together." 

"Well,  if  we  can't  fix  it  with  a  subtitle,  we'll  have  to 
change  the  situation,  then.  We  can't  go  back  and  shoot 
those  scenes  all  over  again,  it'd  cost  too  darn  much ;  and 
anyway  we  haven't  got  time." 

Having  kept  the  Linda  Lee  organization  awaiting  his 
convenience  for  five  weeks  after  the  date  upon  which  he 
had  agreed  to  begin  directing  for  it,  Nolan  was  now  with 
the  utmost  sang-froid  trying  to  jam  through  in  one  month 
an  undertaking  for  which  he  would,  going  his  normal 
gait,  require  all  of  two ;  partly  because  he  was  being  paid 
by  the  job  instead  of  by  the  week,  in  part  because  his  serv- 
ices for  the  next  picture  had  not  been  bespoken  and  he 
was  flirting  with  a  bid  from  the  East,  an  offer  contingent 
upon  his  being  able  to  leave  Los  Angeles  not  later  than  a 
set  date,  finally  and  not  in  the  least  part  for  another 
reason  altogether,  a  peculiarly  private  one. 

He  wasn't  happy  in  his  present  circumstances,  his  van- 


230  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

ity  was  deeply  wounded,  and  the  wound  was  not  likely  to 
heal  so  long  as  he  must  continue  in  the  humiliating  posi- 
tion to  which  he  had  been  reduced  by  Lucinda's  insuscepti- 
bility to  his  charms  of  person.  Nolan  had  all  along  looked 
forward  to  this  engagement  with  considerable  animation, 
because  Lucinda  was  a  type  new  to  him  and  he  counted 
on  learning  about  women  from  her,  too.  The  trouble  was, 
he  hadn't  in  the  least  suspected  that  she  was  to  prove  not 
only  new  but  unique  in  his  experience.  He  knew  what  it 
was  to  be  resisted,  and  didn't  mind  that  so  much,  finding 
it  at  worst  flattering.  Once  or  twice  since  becoming  a 
director  he  had  even  met  with  the  appearance  of  indiffer- 
ence, and  had  had  the  fun  of  showing  it  up  for  what  it 
really  was.  But  this  was  the  first  time  in  many  years  that 
any  woman  with  whom  he  had  been  brought  into  profes- 
sional contact  had  proved  not  so  much  indifferent  to  him 
as  unconscious  that  he  boasted  any  attractions  calling  for 
even  such  negative  emotion.  Nolan  needed  some  time  to 
appreciate  that  this  unprecedented  and  outrageous  thing 
could  really  be,  and  when  he  did  he  was  hurt  to  his  soul's 
marrow.  By  nature  buoyant,  he  found  himself  growing 
morose;  by  reputation  the  best-tempered  of  directors,  he 
heard  himself  snapping  at  his  subordinates  like  the  veriest 
martinet  of  them  all.  Worse  yet,  Lucinda  seemed  not 
even  to  reckon  him  a  genius  at  his  calling.  An  unheard-of 
state  of  affairs  and  one  intolerable  to  a  man  of  his  kidney. 
He  wanted  more  than  he  had  ever  wanted  anything  to  be 
quit  of  her  for  good  and  all  and  at  the  earliest  possible 
moment. 

For  the  indignities  which  he  felt  had  thus  been  put  upon 
him  in  a  fashion  wholly  uncalled-for  there  was,  of  course, 
reparation  proffered  in  Fanny  Lontaine's  indisputable 
awareness  of  him.  And  even  as  Lucinda,  Fanny  too  was 
clearly  "class."  On  the  other  hand,  she  had  a  husband, 
undeniably  an  ass,  puffed  up  out  of  all  reason  with  self- 
importance,  but  still  and  for  all  that  a  husband.  Besides, 
having  set  his  heart  on  a  star,  Nolan  conceived  it  to  be 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  231 

inconsistent  with  his  dignity  to  content  himself  with  a 
satellite.  So  he  sulked  and  could  not  be  comforted. 

Necessarily  the  picture  suffered  through  the  languish- 
ing of  his  interest ;  and  Nolan,  foreseeing  the  professional 
and  public  verdict,  did  his  best  to  forestall  it  by  privately 
letting  it  be  known  he'd  been  a  dumb-bell  to  tackle  the  job 
of  making  an  actress  out  of  a  rank  amateur,  only  for  the 
jack  involved  he  would  never  have  tried  it.  And  then 
the  story  they'd  asked  him  to  do — !  One  of  these  society 
things,  you  know :  no  punch,  no  speed,  no  drama,  nothing 
but  five  reels  of  stalling,  clothes  and  close-ups,  padding 
for  a  lot  of  lines ;  a  regular  illustrated  dialogue.  What 
could  you  do  with  a  story  like  that,  anyway  ? 

More  openly,  in  the  course  of  time,  as  he  grew  acutely 
self-conscious  of  inability  to  cope  with  what  he  chose  to 
deny,  the  dramatic  possibilities  intrinsic  in  the  story  of 
a  father  who  falls  in  love  with  the  woman  loved  by  his 
own  son,  a  woman  whom  he  has  sworn  to  expose  as  un- 
worthy to  be  his  son's  wife,  Nolan  spoke  of  the  production 
in  the  studio  as  "this  piece  of  cheese." 

His  name  ranked  high  on  the  roster  of  America's  fore- 
most photoplay  directors.  Whenever  one  of  the  Los  An- 
geles cinema  houses  booked  a  picture  of  his  making  the 
bill-boards  of  the  town  heralded  in  twenty-four  sheet 
posters  the  coming  of  "A  Barry  Nolan  Production" ;  fre- 
quently the  lettering  of  this  line  over-shadowed  that  in 
which  the  name  of  the  star  was  displayed,  invariably  it 
dwarfed  the  name  of  the  story. 

After  witnessing  several  of  these  offerings,  Lucinda  be- 
gan to  wonder  why  ,  ,  . 


XXX 

BUT  that  distrust  of  Barry  Nolan's  competency  which 
troubled  Lucinda's  mind  almost  from  the  very  outset 
of  their  association  had  yet  to  crystallize  on  the  Saturday 
when  Summerlad  was  expected  home ;  and  her  disposition 
toward  the  director  was  rendered  only  the  more  amiable 
when,  toward  noon,  he  informed  her  that  he  wouldn't 
need  her  again  till  Monday  morning. 

Nevertheless  it  threatened  to  prove  a  long  afternoon 
to  an  impatient  woman,  and  Lucinda,  wanting  company 
to  help  her  while  it  away,  promptly  petitioned  for  Fanny's 
release  as  well. 

Fanny,  however,  was  busily  employed,  as  she  had  been 
ever  since  early  morning,  waiting  for  Nolan  to  put  her 
through  a  scheduled  five-minute  scene  which  would  round 
out  her  full  day's  work.  But  Nolan  graciously  promised 
to  set  her  free  in  another  hour,  and  then — to  get  rid  of 
Lucinda's  presence,  which  instinct  was  already  beginning 
to  warn  him  was  silently  skeptical  of  his  claims — artfully 
suggested  that  she  might  like  to  review  the  rushes  of  yes- 
terday's camera-work. 

Assuming  that  she  would  find  the  projection-room 
empty,  Lucinda  made  her  way  to  it  without  bothering  to 
remove  her  make-up,  but  on  opening  the  door  saw  a  fan- 
like  beam  of  turbid  light  wavering  athwart  its  darkness, 
and  would  have  withdrawn,  had  not  Zinn's  thick  and 
genial  accents  hailed  her  from  the  rear  of  the  long,  black- 
walled,  tunnel-like  chamber. 

"Come  right  on  in,  Miss  Lee.  We'll  be  through  in  a 
minute.  Just  running  some  of  the  fillum  come  through 
from  Joe  Jacques  yesterday.  Maybe  you'd  like  to  see  it. 
232 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  23* 

'Sgreat  stuff  that  boy  Summerlad's  putting  over  this 
time." 

Murmuring  thanks,  Lucinda  groped  her  way — bending 
low,  that  her  head  might  not  block  the  light — to  one  of  the 
arm-chairs  beneath  the  slotted  wall  which  shut  off  the 
projection-machines  in  their  fire-proof  housing. 

When  her  vision  had  accommodated  itself  to  the  gloom, 
she  made  out  several  figures  in  other  chairs,  sitting  quietly 
behind  ruddy  noses  of  cigars  and  cigarettes.  At  a  table 
to  one  side  the  glow  of  a  closely  shaded  lamp  disclosed 
an  apparently  amputated  hand  hanging  with  pencil  poised 
above  a  pad,  ready  to  note  down  anything  the  traffic  of 
the  screen  might  suggest  to  Zinn.  The  latter  was  con- 
versing in  undertones  with  somebody  in  the  adjoining 
chair,  and  the  rumble  of  their  voices  was  punctuated  now 
and  again  by  a  chuckle  which  affected  Lucinda  with  a 
shiver  of  uncertain  recollection.  But  she  couldn't  be  sure, 
in  that  mirk  she  could  by  no  means  make  out  the  features 
of  Zinn's  companion  or  even  the  shape  of  his  head,  and 
the  surmise  seemed  too  absurd  .  .  . 

She  was  none  the  less  perturbed  to  a  degree  that  hin- 
dered just  appreciation  of  the  admirable  work  of  Lynn 
Summerlad,  whose  shadow,  clad  in  the  rude  garments  of 
a  lumberjack,  was  performing  feats  of  skill  and  daring 
against  a  background  of  logging-camp  scenery;  and 
thanks  to  her  misgivings,  as  much  as  to  the  custom  of  tak- 
ing and  retaking  again  and  again  even  scenes  of  minor 
importance,  had  grown  well  weary  of  watching  Lynn 
bound  frantically  from  log  to  log  of  a  churning  river  to 
rescue  Alice  Drake  from  what  seemed  to  be  desperately 
real  danger  in  the  break-up  of  a  log  jam,  when  abruptly 
the  shining  rectangle  of  the  screen  turned  blank,  the  beam 
of  clouded  light  was  blotted  out,  and  a  dim  bulb  set  in  the 
black  ceiling  was  lighted  to  guide  the  spectators  to  the 
door. 

Then,  with  a  fluttering  heart,  Lucinda  identified  her  hus- 
band in  Zinn's  companion ;  and  anger  welling  in  her  bosom 


234  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

affected  her  with  momentary  suffocation,  so  that  she  was 
put  to  it  to  reply  when  Zinn,  leering  hideously,  presented 
Bellamy. 

"Shake  hands  with  Mr.  Druce,  Miss  Lee:  new  tenant 
of  mine,  going  to  work  here  same  as  you,  just  signed  a 
lease  for  space  to  make  his  first  production." 

"What!" 

At  that  monosyllable  of  dismayed  protest,  Lucinda  saw 
Zinn's  little  eyes  of  a  pig  grow  wide  with  surprise ;  which 
emotion,  however,  might  have  been  due  quite  as  much  to 
what  Bellamy  was  saying. 

"But  I  am  fortunate,  Mr.  Zinn,  in  already  having  the 
honour  of  Miss  Lee's  acquaintance."  Bellamy  took  pos- 
session of  her  hand.  "How  do  you  do,  Linda  ?  So  happy 
to  see  you  again — looking  more  radiant  than  ever,  too !" 

"Is  that  so?  You  two  know  each  other!  Whyn't  you 
tell  me?" 

"Wasn't  sure  it  was  this  Miss  Lee  I  knew  until  I  saw 
her." 

"Well,  well!  Ain't  that  nice!  You  ought  to  get 
along  together  fine,  both  working  in  the  same  studio  and 
everything." 

Lucinda  found  her  voice  all  at  once,  but  hardly  her  self- 
possession.  "It  isn't — it  can't  be  true !  Bel :  it  isn't  true 
you're !" 

"Afraid  it  is,  Linda."  Bel's  smile  was  lightly  mocking. 
"The  picture  business  has  got  me  in  its  toils  at  last.  Only 
needed  that  trip  out  here  to  decide  me.  Now  I'm  in  it  up 
to  my  ears.  Something  to  do,  you  know." 

"But  not — not  as  an  actor?" 

"Bless  your  heart,  no !  All  kinds  of  a  nincompoop  but 
that.  No :  I'm  coming  in  on  the  producing  side,  forming 
a  little  company  and  starting  in  a  modest  way,  as  you  see, 
on  leased  premises,  with  the  most  economical  overhead  I 
can  figure.  If  I  make  good — well,  I  understand  Mr.  Zinn 
is  willing  to  sell  his  studio,  and  I'll  be  wanting  one  all  my 
very  own." 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  235 

"Any  time  you  want  to  talk  business,  Mr.  Druce,  you 
know  the  way  to  my  office.  Don't  stand  on  ceremony,  and 
don't  let  nobody  kid  you  I'm  into  a  conference  and  can't 
be  disturbed  by  anybody  who  wants  to  buy  me  out  of  this 
Bedlam:  just  walk  right  in,  slap  the  cheque-book  down 
on  my  desk,  and  unlimber  the  old  fountain-pen;  you'll 
find  me  willing  to  listen  to  reason.  Well:  got  to  get 
along,  folks.  They're  going  to  run  some  of  Miss  Lee's 
rushes  now.  Maybe  you'd  like  to  look  at  them,  if  she 
don't  mind." 

"I  hope  very  truly  she  won't,"  Bellamy  said,  smiling 
into  Lucinda's  eyes. 

Lucinda  uttered  a  faint-hearted  negative:  no,  she 
wouldn't  mind.  No  other  way  out  till  they  were  alone 

.  .  .  But  her  heart  was  hot  with  resentment  of  the 
way  that  Bel  was  forever  forcing  situations  upon  her  in 
which  she  must  accept  him  on  his  own  terms. 

Immediately  the  door  had  closed  behind  Zinn,  however, 
Bel's  manner  changed,  his  show  of  assurance  gave  place 
to  diffidence  or  its  fair  semblance. 

"I'm  sorry,  Linda — I  really  don't  mean  to  be  a 
pest " 

"Then  why  are  you  here?  Why  won't  you  keep  out  of 
my  way  ?" 

"Give  me  half  a  chance,  I  think  I  can  make  you  under- 
stand  " 

"You  had  that  chance  weeks  ago,  and  deliberately  re- 
fused it.  Do  you  imagine  I  will  give  you  another  oppor- 
tunity to  affront  me  as  you  did  ?" 

"But  surely  you  got  my  note " 

"What  note?" 

"The  note  I  sent  to  the  Hollywood,  explaining  I  was 
called  East  on  two  hours'  notice,  but  would  return  as  soon 
as  I  could ;  begging  you  to  consider  our  interview  merely 
postponed " 

"If  you  sent  any  such  note,  I  could  hardly  have  failed 
to  receive  it." 


236  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

"But  Linda!  I  did  send  it,  an  hour  before  I  left,  by 
special  delivery — 'pon  my  word  I  did !" 

"Possibly,"  Lucinda  suggested  with  laboured  scorn, 
"you  misaddressed  it,  forgetting  which  of  your  numerous 
feminine  acquaintances  you  were  writing  to." 

"I  addressed  it,"  Bel  insisted  stoutly,  "to  Mrs.  Bellamy 
Druce." 

"If  so,  that  explains  it.  They  know  me  at  the  hotel  only 
as  Linda  Lee." 

"How  was  I  to  know  that?" 

"Your  sources  of  information  concerning  me  seem  to 
be  fairly  busy  and  accurate." 

"I'm  sorry  if  you've  been  annoyed" — Lucinda  cut  in 
a  short  laugh  of  derision — "no,  really  I  am !  But  I  had 

"Wait !"  Lucinda  had  become  aware  of  a  head  framed 
in  the  little  window  of  the  projection-booth  and  regard- 
ing them  with  a  smile  of  friendly  interest.  "Not  now — 
later." 

"All  ready,  Miss  Lee,"  said  the  operator,  unabashed — 
"if  you  are,  I  mean." 

"Yes,  thank  you,  quite  ready."  As  she  settled  back  into 
her  chair  and  Bellamy  placed  himself  by  her  side  she 
added  in  a  guarded  tone :  "As  soon  as  I've  looked  these 
scenes  over,  we  can  go  to  my  dressing-room  ..." 

The  ceiling  light  winked  out,  stuttering  rays  thrashed 
through  the  dark  to  paint  in  black  and  white  those  win- 
some gestures  which  Lucinda  had  described  before  the 
camera.  But  her  interest  in  her  pictured  self  for  once  had 
lapsed,  vanity  itself  was  for  the  time  being  wholly  in  abey- 
ance, she  watched  without  seeing  the  play  of  light  and 
shadow,  and  when  it  faded  from  the  screen  could  not  have 
said  what  she  had  seen. 

Weird,  to  sit  there  in  the  dark  with  the  man  beside 
her  who  had  once  filled  all  her  heart  that  was  now  filled 
with  longing  for  another  ,  ,  , 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  237 

When  the  screen  once  more  shone  blank  and  the  ceiling 
light  flashed  on,  Bel  was  smiling  cheerfully. 

"No  wonder  you  fell  for  the  screen  so  hard,  Linda: 
you're  exquisite,  and  no  mistake.  If  you  stick  at  it,  never 
fear ;  it  won't  be  long  before  you'll  be  wiping  the  eyes  of 
the  best  of  them." 

"Thank  you,"  she  said  stiffly— "but  I  don't  think  I 
want  that.  I  only  want  a  life  I  can  live  and  hold  my  self- 
respect." 

"And  you  come  to  Hollywood  to  find  it?" 

She  flushed  darkly  and  with  an  angry  movement  got  up. 
"Please  come." 

Her  maid  was  waiting  in  the  dressing-room,  but  Lu- 
cinda  sent  the  woman  to  explain  to  Mrs.  Lontaine  that 
they  might  be  a  few  minutes  delayed,  and  told  her  not  to 
come  back  till  sent  for.  Alone  with  Bellamy,  she  showed 
him  a  face  on  fire  with  challenge. 

"You  said  you  wanted  to  explain,  Bel;  you  won't  get 
another  chance." 

He  nodded  soberly.  "Quite  realize  that.  But  this  once 
will  do,  can  say  all  I  want  to  in  three  minutes.  Then 
you're  free  to  call  it  quits  for  good,  if  you  like." 

That  posed  her  rudely.  Did  he  mean — could  it  be  pos- 
sible he  meant  he  had  become  reconciled  to  the  rift  in  their 
relations  ?  Had  the  arrow  she  had  loosed  into  the  dark, 
that  night  when  Bel  had  broken  his  appointment  with  her, 
flown  straight  to  the  mark?  Was  Bel  really  "cured?"  He 
had  that  look ;  there  was  deference  without  abasement  in 
his  bearing,  if  regret  now  and  then  tinged  his  tone  it  con- 
veyed no  hint  of  repining.  By  every  sign  he  was  doing 
very  well  without  her. 

"Can  you  doubt  that's  what  I'll  'like,'  Bel?  Or  what 
must  I  do,  more  than  I've  already  done,  to  prove  I  ask 
nothing  better  than  to  call  it  quits  for  good  with  you  ?" 

"Oh,  you've  done  all  that  was  needed,  thanks.  I'm  con- 
vinced— have  been  for  some  weeks,  if  you  want  to  know — 


238  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

in  fact,  from  the  moment  when  I  found  out  you'd  lost 
your  head  over  a  movie  actor." 

"Indeed?"     Lucinda  mastered  an  impulse  to  bite  her 
lip.    "And  have  you  anything  to  say  about  that  ?" 
"Not  a  blessed  thing.    That's  your  affair." 
"Pity  you  didn't  know  in  time  to  spare  you  the  trip." 
"I'm  not  sure,  Linda.    Knowing  you  as  I  did,  I  don't 
think  I'd  have  believed  anything  I  didn't  see  with  my  own 

eyes " 

"Anything  so  greatly  to  my  discredit,  of  course!" 
"Easy,  Linda !    I  didn't  say  that.    You  know  best  what 
you  want — that's  something  nobody  else  can  ever  tell  one. 
I'm  not  criticizing,  I'm  merely  explaining." 
"And  very  good  of  you,  I'm  sure." 
But  Lucinda  had  not  been  able  to  utter  the  taunt  without 
a  tremor. 

Bellamy  gave  his  head  a  stubborn  shake  and  stepped 
nearer.  "Please  don't  be  angry  because  of  anything  stu- 
pid I  may  say.  You  see,  you  misunderstand  me :  I  came 
out  here  that  first  time  dead-set  to  win  you  back  at  any 
cost,  still  madly  in  love  with  you,  absolutely  unable  to 
conceive  of  a  life  that  didn't  pivot  on  you,  Linda.  I  was 

prepared  to  give  you  any  pledges  you   could  possibly 
ask » 

"Did  you  flatter  yourself  any  pledge  you  could  give 
would  mean  anything  to  me,  when  you'd  broken  your 
word  so  often  ?" 

"I  hoped  I  could  make  you  understand  what  a  blow  your 
leaving  me  had  been,  how  it  had  brought  me  to  my  senses 
at  last,  jolted  me  up  on  the  water-wagon,  where  I've  been 
ever  since — I  haven't  had  a  suspicion  of  a  drink,  Linda, 
since  that  night  you  ran  away — and  made  me  see  what  an 
unspeakable  rotter  I'd  been,  fooling  around  with  women 
as  I  had.  That's  another  thing  I  cut  out  like  a  shot.  I 
haven't  looked  sideways  at  another  woman  since  .  .  ." 

"Not  even  after  discovering  I'd  fallen  in  love  with  an- 
other man  ?" 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  239 

"Not  even  after  that.  Somehow  casual  women  don't 
mean  anything  to  me  any  more — I  mean,  casual  flirtations. 
They're  too  damn  stupid — silly  waste  of  time.  I  guess 
I  had  to  be  squiffy  as  I  used  to  be  most  of  the  time,  not 
to  be  bored  by  them.  Oh!  I'm  not  saying  I  shan't  ever 
fall  in  love  again,  just  as  you  have ;  but  when  I  do,  it  will 
be  the  real  thing,  Linda — not  the  simple  cussedness  that 
makes  a  child  play  with  a  gun  because  he  knows  it's 
loaded." 

"This  is  all  very  interesting,  I'm  sure.  But  after  all,  it 
doesn't  explain — now,  does  it?" 

"It  explains  why  I  followed  you  out  here  the  first  trip, 
why  I  had  to  see  you  in  another  man's  arms,  kissing  him, 
and  then  hear  all  the  small-town  gossip  about  you  two 
before  I'd  believe  ..." 

"There  is  gossip,  then?" 

"What  do  you  think  ?  According  to  all  reports,  you've 
been  going  it,  rather,  you  and  this  chap  Summerlad — 
'stepping  out  together/  as  they  say  in  Hollywood." 

Lucinda  affected  a  shrug  of  indifference:  Bel  musn't 
guess  she  cared  what  people  said. 

"But  I  am  still  waiting  to  hear  why  you've  come  out 
this  time;  what  it  means  when  you  hire  quarters  here 
in  the  studio  where  I  am  working  daily,  and  pretend 
you're  going  into  the  producing  business.  You  may  be 
able  to  make  Zinn  believe  that  tale ;  at  least,  he  won't  ask 
embarrassing  questions  so  long  as  you  put  money  in  his 
pocket ;  but  you  can  hardly  expect  me — !" 

"You're  wrong  there,  Linda.  I'm  just  as  much  in 
earnest  about  becoming  a  producer  of  good  motion-pic- 
tures as  you  are  about  becoming  a  star.  I  got  a  little  look 
into  the  game  that  fascinated  me,  in  those  two  days  while 
I  was  killing  time,  waiting  for  the  night  you'd  set  for 
our  talk.  You  ought  to  be  able  to  understand :  you  were 
fascinated  yourself  at  first  sight." 

"But  you — !  Bellamy  Druce  dabbling  in  the  motion- 
picture  business !" 


240  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

"Well,  what  price  Mrs.  Bellamy  Druce  in  the  same 
galley?" 

"No,  Bel:  frankly,  I  don't  believe  you.  You're  here 
with  some  wild  idea  you  can  influence  me  to  do  what  you 
wish — whatever  that  is,  since  you  say  you've  given  up 
wanting  me  to  come  back  to  you." 

"Oh,  as  to  that — absolutely !" 

"Then  why  must  you  set  up  your  shop  here,  where  we 
can't  help  running  into  each  other  half  a  dozen  times  a 
day?" 

"Because  there  isn't  another  inch  of  stage  to  be  hired 
in  all  Los  Angeles  today.  I've  had  a  man  looking  round 
for  me  ever  since  my  first  visit,  he's  tried  every  place. 
The  only  thing  I  could  do  to  avoid  renting  from  Zinn  was 
to  build,  and  that  meant  a  longer  wait  than  I  wanted.  Ask 
anybody  who  knows  the  local  studio  situation,  if  you 
doubt  what  I  say." 

"So  you  didn't  come  out  this  time  with  any  idea  of 
seeing  me  at  all,  Bel?" 

"Of  course,  I  did.  I  had  to  see  you.  Things  couldn't 
rest  as  they  were,  especially  after  you'd  taken  up  with 
this  Summerlad.  I'm  assuming  you're  serious  in  that 
quarter,  of  course." 

"And  what  has  that  to  do — ?" 

"Just  this :  I  don't  like  it.  As  I  say,  if  you  want  to  run 
around  with  a  movie  actor,  that's  your  affair ;  but  so  long 
as  you  remain  my  wife,  it's  my  affair,  too.  Don't  forget 
it's  my  name  you're  trailing  through  the  muck  of  this  sink- 
hole of  scandal." 

She  flamed  at  him— "Bel!"— but  he  wouldn't  heed. 

"You  don't  suppose  you're  going  to  get  away  with  the 
Linda  Lee  thing  much  longer,  do  you  ?  If  all  these  people 
don't  know  it's  an  assumed  name  now,  they  jolly  soon  will. 
How  do  you  suppose  I  found  out  you  were  up  to  this 
game  ?  No :  not  through  detectives,  but  simply  by  calling 
on  your  friend,  Ben  Gulp,  the  man  who  first  put  this  pic- 
ture bee  in  your  bonnet.  Nelly  Guest  gave  me  that  cue, 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  241 

and  I  thought  Gulp  might  know  something  helpful.  Well : 
he  did,  when  I  called  he  had  on  his  desk  a  trade  paper 
that  carried  a  report  of  the  incorporation  of  Linda  Lee 
Inc.  Did  you  imagine  anybody  would  need  more  than 
that  name,  coupled  with  Lontaine's  as  president  of  the 
company?  Gulp  himself  was  the  first  to  tumble  to  it 

.  .  .  And  that's  what  I'm  here  to  ask  you.  If 
you're  going  through,  if  you're  bent  on  leading  the  life  you 
have  been  leading  ever  since  you  fell  in  with  these  people, 
be  good  enough  to  keep  my  wife's  name  out  of  it !  Get 
your  divorce  and  get  it  soon.  That's  all  I  have  to  ask  of 
you." 

Lucinda  replied  with  a  slow  inclination  of  her  head. 

"What  you  want  is  my  dearest  wish,"  she  said.  "De- 
pend on  it,  Bel,  I  shan't  waste  a  day,  I'll  take  the  first 
train  I  can  catch  for  Reno,  after  finishing  this  picture." 

"That's  simply  splendid  of  you!"  Bellamy  declared 
heartily.  "Anything  I  can  do  to  help  along,  of  course — 
just  let  me  know." 

"I'll  be  glad  if  you'll  go  now,"  Lucinda  told  him.  "I 
think  I've  had  about  all  I  can  stand  for  one  day." 

"Then  good  bye,  my  dear — a  thousand  thanks !" 


XXXI 

LUCINDA  told  Fanny  that,  when  the  dressing-room 
door  had  shut  Bellamy  out,  she  "didn't  know 
whether  to  laugh  or  to  cry";  though  it's  true  that  the 
laugh,  if  any,  being  admittedly  on  herself,  she  was  the 
more  moved  to  weep.  And  for  some  minutes  she  stood  in 
thought,  with  a  curiously  uncertain  expression,  a  look 
that,  trembling  between  a  smile  and  a  frown,  faithfully 
reflected  a  mind  that  couldn't  readily  choose  between  re- 
lief and  chagrin.  In  the  end  throwing  herself  into  a 
chair,  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  and  shook  with  mirth 
which  she  really  wasn't  able  to  control,  all  the  while  aware 
that,  but  for  the  assurance  of  Lynn's  love  to  cushion  the 
shock  to  self-esteem,  tears  instead  must  have  been  her 
portion. 

After  all,  one  couldn't  deny  that  it  had  been  a  facer, 
that  complete  snub  Bel  had  administered  to  her  expecta- 
tions with  his  cool  relinquishment  of  all  pretense  of  claim 
upon  her,  barring  that  which  was  his  beyond  dis- 
pute, his  right  to  demand  the  speediest  feasible  dissolu- 
tion of  their  bonds. 

"And  you  really  think  divorce  is  what  he's  after?" 
Fanny  doubted  darkly,  having  duly  turned  the  matter 
over  in  her  mind. 

"I'm  sure  you'd  think  so,  if  you  had  heard  him." 

"I  don't  know.  .  .  .  Of  course,  he  was  your  prop- 
erty long  enough,  you  ought  to  know  his  wretched  little 
ways.  But  I  wouldn't  trust  any  man  to  mean  what  he 
says  to  a  woman  under  such  circumstances." 

"Fanny !  how  long  is  it  since  you  set  up  to  be  such  a 


cyme?' 


242 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  243 

"As  long  as  I've  been  an  honest  married  woman,  dar- 
ling. I  think  the  first  thing  a  woman  with  her  wits  about 
her  learns,  once  she  begins  to  convalesce  from  that  fool- 
ish bride  feeling,  is  that  men  are  just  as  treacherous  as  we 
are  in  affairs  of  the  heart,  so-called.  Anyway,  if  your 
Bellamy  were  mine,  he'd  wait  a  long  time  for  me  to  give 
him  his  freedom,  precisely  as  long  as  he  insisted  on  stick- 
ing round  and  making  me  uncomfortable  .  .  .  The 
most  outrageous  proceeding  I  ever  heard  of !" 

"I  don't  see  through  Bel,  myself,"  Lucinda  admitted. 
"You'd  think  it  would  be  the  last  thing  he'd  do.  Of  course 
— I'll  speak  to  Harry  about  it  tonight — we  can't  stay, 
we'll  have  to  move  as  soon  as  we  finish  this  picture." 

"We're  lucky  to  be  as  well  along  as  we  are,  in  that 
case.  Barry  Nolan  said  today  he  expected  to  finish  up  in 
two  weeks  more." 

"Then  there's  no  time  to  be  wasted.  Your  husband  will 
have  to  begin  looking  for  new  studio  accommodations 
right  away;  though  I  haven't  the  least  idea  where  we'll 
find  them,  if  Bel  told  the  truth." 

"It's  barely  possible  he  did,  of  course.  And  then  it's 
equally  possible  that  he's  taking  advantage  of  the  demand 
exceeding  the  supply  to  force  you  out  of  the  business,  as- 
suming you'll  quit  Zinn's  even  if  it  involves  suspending 
production,  rather  than  be  made  miserable  by  seeing  him 
every  day.  In  which  case,  of  course,  he'll  have  some 
other  scheme  ready  to  make  it  difficult  if  not  impossible 
for  you  to  resume." 

"Heavens  !  what  a  wild-eyed  theory,  Fanny !" 

"Any  more  wild-eyed,  pray,  than  the  facts  in  the  case  ? 
— than  what  Bellamy  has  done  in  leasing  space  in  the 
same  studio  with  a  woman  whom  he  has  every  reason  for 
wishing  to  avoid,  if  one  can  believe  a  word  he  says! 
Cindy :  don't  tell  me  you  believe  Bellamy  Druce  ever  left 
New  York,  his  home  and  his  friends,  to  come  out  here 
and  muck  about  Hollywood  because  he  likes  it,  or  because 
he's  discontented  with  having  been  no  better  than  a  drone 


244  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

all  his  life  long  and  wants  to  redeem  himself  by  doing 
something  worth-while?  If  that's  his  motive,  in  Heaven's 
name !  what  made  him  pick  out  the  motion-picture  busi- 
ness?" 

"It  is  funny,"  Lucinda  confessed.  "I  don't  pretend  to 
understand  ..." 

No  more  did  she.  But  the  seeds  of  suspicion  that  con- 
versation planted  took  root  readily  and  flowered  into  a 
dark  jungle  of  strange,  involuted  fancies  in  which  fears 
ran  wild  until  Lynn  Summerlad  came  home  to  charm  them 
all  asleep.  Lucinda  only  needed  to  see  him,  indeed,  to 
forget  her  troubles  altogether  and  become  once  more  the 
voluntary  thrall  of  a  species  of  intoxication  as  potent  to 
her  senses  as  a  drug. 

The  Lontaines  had  arranged  a  supper  party  at  Santa 
Monica  in  Summerlad's  honour  for  that  night,  but  consid- 
erately had  neglected  to  preface  it  with  dinner.  So  the 
lovers  had  the  hours  till  eleven  to  themselves.  At  seven 
Summerlad  called,  finding  his  way  unannounced  to  Lu- 
anda's sitting-room.  She  went  to  his  arms  with  a  cry  of 
joy,  buried  her  face  on  his  shoulder,  clung  to  him  as  if 
she  would  never  let  him  go. 

"I've  missed  you  so,  Lynn,  I've  missed  you  so !" 

He  seemed  startled  and  unmistakably  affected  by  the 
artlessness  of  this  confession,  and  held  her  close,  com- 
forting her  with  all  the  time-old  and  tested  responses  of 
the  lovers'  litany,  with  a  tenderness  in  his  voice  more  deep 
and  true  than  he  had  ever  sounded  in  the  most  impassioned 
moments  of  his  wooing. 

"But,  my  dearest  girl!  you're  trembling.  What  is  it? 
Tell  me  .  .  .  " 

"It's  so  wonderful  to  have  you  back,  Lynn.  Don't 
ever  leave  me  for  so  long  again." 

"You  tempt  me  to,"  he  laughed  indulgently.  "I  think 
you've  learned  to  love  me  better  while  I've  been  away 
than  you  did  in  all  the  while  that  I  was  here !" 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  245 

She  answered  with  an  odd  little  laugh  of  love  and  depre- 
cation: "I  really  think  I  have  ..." 

They  dined  at  Marcelle's,  not  the  happiest  selection  for 
their  first  few  hours  together,  for  the  place  was  thronged 
with  picture-folk,  as  it  is  always  of  a  Saturday,  and  ac- 
quaintances were  continually  running  over  to  their  table 
to  tell  Summerlad  how  glad  they  were  to  see  him  back. 
Practically  the  only  moments  they  had  alone  were 
when  they  danced;  so  they  made  excuse  to  leave  early, 
that  they  might  drive  to  Santa  Monica  by  the  most  round- 
about way. 

Nothing  was  wanting  to  endue  that  drive  with  every 
illusion  of  a  dream.  Spring  was  so  well  advanced  that 
the  night  air,  windless,  was  as  warm  as  it  would  ever  be 
in  Summer.  There  was  again  a  moon,  as  on  that  first 
night  when  Summerlad  had  driven  Lucinda  and  the  Lon- 
taines  home  from  dinner  at  his  bungalow  and  on  the 
way  had  turned  aside  to  show  Lucinda  from  that  high 
place  in  the  hills  all  the  provinces  of  her  new  kingdom 
mapped  out  beneath  her.  Summerlad's  car,  its  superb 
motor  in  perfect  tune,  made  light  of  speed  laws  on  lonely 
roads  far  from  the  main-travelled  ways  that  link  the 
towns.  On  the  back  seat,  snuggled  into  the  hollow  of  Sum- 
merlad's arm,  Lucinda  rested  a  long  time  in  contented 
silence,  watching  the  molten  magic  of  the  night  fling  itself 
at  their  faces,  dissolve,  blend  into  rushing  shadows,  and 
sweep  behind,  to  music  of  cloven  air  like  fairy  laughter. 
How  could  she  ever  have  been  so  stupid  as  to  harbour  a 
thought  disloyal  to  this  land  of  dim  enchantment  ? 

"It  is  too  perfect,"  she  murmured  at  length,  "too  sweet 
to  last.  It  can't  last,  I  know  it  can't!" 

"Why  not?  So  long  as  we  love,  what's  to  prevent  all 
beauty  lasting?" 

"Life.  I  mean" — it  took  all  her  courage  to  speak  of 
what  she  had  till  then  purposely  kept  back — "Bellamy." 

Summerlad's  arm  tightened  protectingly  around  her. 


246  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

"What  about  him?  Has  he  come  back?  Been  annoying 
you  any  way  ?  Tell  me  about  it." 

She  told  him  her  version  of  that  noon-hour  meeting  at 
the  studio,  Summerlad  swearing  softly  beneath  his  breath 
as  he  listened. 

"So  you  see,  my  dear — as  I  said — it  can't  last.  We  can't 
continue  to  work  together  in  the  same  studio,  with  Bel 
spying  on  us,  or  able  to  do  so  any  time  he  happens  to 
want  to.  I'll  have  to  move — you  can't,  of  course,  be- 
cause your  contract  is  with  Zinn  himself.  And  I  imagine 
— in  fact,  I'm  sure — the  best  thing  for  us  both  is  for  me 
to  leave  Los  Angeles  altogether  for  at  least  six  months." 

"Go  away  from  Los  Angeles  ?  From  me !  Linda,  you 
can't  mean  it." 

"Only  to  make  it  possible  to  be  nearer  to  you  when  I 
come  back,  dear.  I  mean,  I  must  go  to  Reno,  where  I 
should  have  gone  in  the  first  place.  If  I  had,  these  impos- 
sible conditions  Bel  has  brought  about  could  never  have 
been." 

"Oh,  damn  your  husband!" 

"I  don't  know:  he's  making  things  awkward  for  us, 
truly,  but  perhaps  in  the  end  we'll  be  grateful  to  him.  If 
it  weren't  for  Bel,  it's  quite  likely  I'd  keep  on  putting  off 
my  divorce  rather  than  be  separated  from  you  for  so 
long.  But  after  all,  what  are  six  months,  when  they  earn 
us  the  right  to  spend  all  our  lives  together  afterwards  ?" 

Lynn  made  no  answer,  other  than  to  hold  her  more 
tightly.  She  twisted  round  to  look  up  into  his  face.  The 
moonlight  showed  it  set  in  a  scowling  cast. 

"What's  the  matter,  Lynn?  Don't  you  think  as  I  do 
about  Reno?" 

"Of  course,"  the  man  muttered.  "But  I  don't  fancy 
your  being  away  from  me  so  long.  Six  months !  Any- 
thing can  happen  in  six  months." 

The  car  was  swinging  into  the  streets  of  Santa  Monica. 
Lucinda  gave  him  her  lips. 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  247 

"Let's  forget  it  for  tonight.  Kiss  me  again  while  there's 
time." 

The  restaurant  to  which  the  Lontaines  had  bidden  them 
was  the  one  in  those  times  most  favoured  by  the  froth 
of  the  picture  colony  for  its  weekly  night  of  carnival ;  an 
immense  pavilion  by  the  sea,  but  too  small  by  half  for  the 
crowds  that  besieged  it  toward  midnight  every  Saturday, 
pathetically  keen  to  rub  shoulders  with  celebrity  in  its 
hours  of  relaxation  from  arduous  labours  before  the 
camera.  When  Lucinda  and  Summerlad  arrived  the  vel- 
vet rope  across  the  entrance  was  holding  back  a  throng 
ten  deep,  a  singularly  patient  and  indefatigable  lot,  its 
faces  all  turned  in  hope  toward  the  lights  beyond,  eager 
to  catch  the  eye  of  the  proprietor,  though  informed  by 
sad  experience  that  the  reward  would  be  what  it  always 
was  for  those  who  had  failed  to  make  reservations,  a 
coldly  indifferent  shake  of  the  head  and  nothing  more. 
Through  this  fringe  prayers  and  elbows  opened  a  sul- 
len way  till  Summerlad's  unusual  height  won  recognition 
from  within,  and  he  passed  through  with  Lucinda  to  a 
place  where  pandemonium  set  to  jazz  ruled  under  light 
restraint. 

Round  the  four  walls  and  encroaching  upon  the  cramped 
floor  for  dancing,  tables  were  so  closely  ranked  that  pas- 
sage between  them  was  generally  impracticable.  It 
seemed  little  short  of  miraculous  that  so  many  people  could 
be  crowded  even  into  that  huge  hall,  incredible  that  they 
should  care  to  be.  Yet  everybody  of  any  consequence  in 
the  studios  was  there,  and  everybody  knew  everybody  else 
and  called  him  by  his  first  name — preferably  at  the  top  of 
his  lungs.  Much  fraternizing  went  on  between  the  tables, 
much  interchange  of  the  bottles  of  which  at  least  one  was 
smuggled  in  by  each  male  patron  as  a  point  of  honour, 
against  the  perfunctory  prohibition  of  the  management 
posted  in  staring  letters  at  the  entrance.  An  insane  orches- 
tra dominated  the  din  by  fits  and  starts,  playing  snatches 
of  fox-trots  and  one-steps  just  long  enough  at  a  time  to 


248  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

permit  a  couple  to  make  half  the  round  of  the  dance  floor 
at  the  meditative  gait  imposed  by  the  mob  massed  upon  it, 
then  stopping  to  let  a  leather-lunged  ballyhoo  bullyrag 
the  dancers  into  contributing  their  cash  as  a  bribe  for  fur- 
ther measures.  When  the  musicians  rested  and  the  floor 
was  cleared,  impromptu  exhibitions  of  foolery  were  staged 
by  slapstick  clowns  and  applauded  with  shrieks  and  cat- 
calls. The  women  present,  mostly  young — for  the  camera 
has  little  use  for  years  beyond  the  earliest  stages  of  ma- 
turity— exhibited  themselves  in  every  degree  of  undress 
short  of  downright  deshabille.  Masculine  Hollywood  as 
a  rule  thriftily  saves  its  evening  clothes  for  service  under 
the  Kliegs. 

Lontaine's  party,  a  large  one,  comprising  the  most  in- 
fluential members  of  the  colony  with  whom  he  and  Sum- 
merlad  were  on  agreeable  terms,  had  been  long  enough  in 
session  already  to  have  become  individually  exalted  and 
collectively  hilarious.  Summerlad  it  took  to  its  bosom 
with  shouts  of  acclaim,  and  he  seemed  to  find  it  easy  to 
catch  the  spirit  of  the  gathering.  But  Luanda  sat  with  it 
and  yet  apart  from  it,  a  little  mused.  She  could  not 
drink  enough  to  be  in  tune  with  her  company,  and  would 
not  if  she  could.  A  sense  of  frustration  oppressed 
her.  Before  her  dreaming  eyes  the  pageant  passed  again 
of  hills  and  fields  asleep  in  sweet  glamour  of  moonlight, 
breathing  pastoral  fragrance  upon  the  night.  She  had 
been  happy  half  an  hour  since.  Here  in  this  heady  atmos- 
phere of  perfumed  flesh,  tobacco  reek  and  pungent  alcohol, 
the  idyl  of  her  evening  grew  faint  and  fled.  While  the 
man  she  loved  had  no  regrets. 

In  a  moment  of  disconcerting  lucidity  she  saw  him  as  a 
strange  man,  flushed  with  drink  and  blown  with  license, 
looking  on  other  women  with  a  satyr's  appraising  eyes, 
bandying  ribald  wheezes  with  the  lips  she  had  so  lately 
kissed.  And  she  winced  and  drew  away,  recalling  that 
abandon  of  affection  with  which  she  had  given  herself  to 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  249 

his  embrace  at  the  hotel,  feeling  of  a  sudden  soiled  and 
shop-worn  as  from  common  handling. 

A  strange  man,  a  man  she  had  known  but  a  few  brief 
weeks ! 

Covertly  watching  him,  she  saw  Summerlad  in  the  mid- 
dle of  a  passage  of  persiflage  start  and  fall  silent,  his  lips 
in  an  instant  wiped  bare  of  speech.  And  following  the  line 
of  his  stare,  she  espied,  at  some  distance,  at  a  table  near 
the  edge  of  the  dance-floor,  Bellamy  sitting  with  a  woman. 

He  saw  her  but  made  no  sign  more  than  to  intensify  his 
meaning  smile,  and  immediately  returned  courteous  atten- 
tion to  his  companion. 

At  this  last  Lucinda  stared  in  doubt  for  several  seconds, 
she  was  so  changed.  But  finery  that  shrieked  of  money 
spent  without  stint  or  taste  could  hardly  disguise  the  wild 
and  ragged  loveliness  of  Nelly  Marquis. 


XXXII 

IN  a  freak  of  unaccountable  reluctance  to  believe  it  was 
really  the  Marquis  girl,  Lucinda  looked  a  second  time. 
More  than  a  month  had  passed  since  that  brief,  distressing 
chapter  of  their  acquaintance,  which  Lucinda  had  put  out 
of  mind  so  completely  that  her  efforts  to  recall  the  features 
of  the  other  conjured  up  only  a  foggy  impression  of  a 
shabby,  haggard,  haunted  shadow,  by  turns  wistful  and 
feebly  defiant,  that  bore  what  might  be  no  more  than 
chance  likeness  to  this  figure  of  flaunting  extravagance  at 
Bellamy's  table. 

A  question  forming  on  her  lips,  Lucinda  turned  back  to 
Summerlad,  but  surprised  the  tail  of  his  eye  veering  has- 
tily away,  and  fancied  a  shade  of  over-elaboration  in  the 
easy,  incurious  air  he  was  quick  to  resume ;  as  if  he  wished 
her  to  believe  he  either  hadn't  noticed  those  two  or  else 
saw  no  significance  in  their  association  on  terms  appar- 
ently so  intimate  and  mutually  diverting. 

So  she  held  her  tongue  for  a  while,  till  the  comforting 
suggestion  offered  that  Lynn  in  all  probability  had  but 
sought  to  spare  her  feelings  .  .  . 

She  stole  another  glance  across  the  room.  By  every 
indication  Bellamy  found  his  company  most  entertaining ; 
he  was  paying  her  sallies  a  tribute  of  smiling  attention 
which  she  as  evidently  found  both  grateful  and  inspiring. 
It  was  plain  that  she  had  had  enough  to  drink  and  some- 
thing more ;  but  on  that  question  she  held  strong  views  of 
her  own,  and  while  Lucinda  was  looking  drained  her 
highball  glass  and  with  an  air  peremptory  and  arch  planted 
it  in  front  of  Bellamy  to  be  replenished ;  a  service  which 
250 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  251 

he  rendered  with  the  aid  of  a  pocket  flask — adding  to  his 
own  glass,  however,  water  only. 

Not  that  that  necessarily  meant  anything.  Bellamy 
knew  the  chances  were  that  Lucinda  was  watching  him. 
Still,  one  had  to  admit  he  was  showing  none  of  those  too 
familiar  symptoms ;  in  that  gathering,  where  the  cold 
sober  were  few  and  far  between,  Bel  looked  conspicuously 
so.  Was  he,  then,  to  be  believed  when  he  insisted  he  had 
finally  foresworn  alcohol  in  remorse  for  having  driven 
Lucinda  to  leave  him?  One  wondered  .  .  . 

Summerlad  was  eyeing  her  with  a  quizzical  air.  Lu- 
cinda managed  half  a  smile. 

"Having  a  good  time,  Linda  ?" 

"I  can't  complain."  A  slight  movement  of  shoulders 
rounded  out  the  innuendo. 

Summerlad  made  a  mouth  of  concern.  "Tired,  dear? 
Want  to  go  home?" 

"Afraid  Fanny  and  Harry  wouldn't  like  it     .     .     .  " 

Was  one  unfair  in  reading  disappointment  where  Lynn 
wished  solicitude  only  to  be  read? 

"How  about  another  little  drink  ?"  Lucinda  shook  her 
head  decidedly.  "Well,  then :  what  say  we  dance  ?" 

She  surveyed  the  crowded  floor  dubiously.  "It's  an 
awful  crush,  I'm  afraid  ..."  Nevertheless  she  got 
up  and  threaded  the  jostling  tables  with  Lynn  at  her  heels : 
anything  for  respite  from  the  racket  the  Lontaines  and 
their  crew  were  kicking  up. 

Odd,  how  those  two,  so  quiet  and  well-behaved  when 
she  had  first  met  them  in  New  York,  had  let  go  in  this 
demoralizing  atmosphere  of  what  Fanny  had  rechristened 
the  loose  and  windy  West.  Odd,  but  in  a  way  quite  Brit- 
ish. The  Anglo-Saxon  temperament  inclines  to  lose  its 
head  once  the  shackles  of  home-grown  public  opinion  are 
stricken  off.  Long  ago  a  wise  man  pointed  out  that  there 
wouldn't  be  any  night  life  in  Paris  worth  mentioning  if  it 
weren't  for  strict  enforcement  of  the  early  closing  law  in 
London. 


252  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

It  was  an  awful  crush.  Few  better  dancers  than  Lynn 
Summerlad  ever  trod  a  ball-room  floor,  but  even  he  was 
put  to  it  to  steer  a  safe  course  in  that  welter.  It  was,  after 
all,  not  much  of  an  improvement  on  sitting  still  and  trying 
to  appear  unaware  of  Bellamy  and  that  weird  Marquis 
creature.  Lucinda  felt  sure,  now,  she  had  not  been  mis- 
taken about  the  girl,  but  concluded  to  ask  Lynn  anyway ; 
and  her  lips  were  parting  with  this  intention  when  she 
heard  a  hiss  of  breath  indrawn  and  looked  up  to  see  Lynn's 
face  disfigured  by  a  spasm  of  pain.  In  the  same  instant 
he  stopped  short,  in  the  next  he  groaned  between  set  teeth. 

"Have  to  get  out  of  this,  I'm  afraid,"  he  grunted.  "My 
foot — somebody  with. a  hoof  like  a  sledge-hammer  landed 
on  it  just  now.  That  wouldn't  matter,  only  the  con- 
founded thing  got  caught  between  a  couple  of  logs  while 
we  were  doing  that  river  stuff.  The  swelling  went  down 
several  days  ago,  and  to  tell  the  truth  I'd  forgotten  about 
it  ...  But  this  reminds  me  plenty !" 

He  had  an  affecting  limp  on  the  way  back  to  their 
table,  where  he  delayed  long  enough  to  tell  his  story  and 
receive  commiserations,  then  announced  that,  though  deso- 
lated to  leave  such  a  promising  young  party,  he  would 
have  to  get  home  and  out  of  his  shoes  before  he  could  hope 
to  know  another  instant's  ease.  If  the  Lontaines  wouldn't 
mind  seeing  that  Lucinda  got  back  to  the  Hollywood  all 
right  .  .  .^ 

The  Lontaines  were  ready  enough  to  undertake  that 
responsibility,  but  Lucinda  wouldn't  hear  of  staying  on. 
Lynn's  chauffeur  could  as  well  as  not  take  her  to  the 
Hollywood  after  dropping  Lynn  in  Beverly  Hills.  .  .  . 
She  was  glad  enough  of  the  excuse,  of  course,  but  she  did 
resent,  what  she  couldn't  help  covertly  looking  for  on  the 
way  out,  the  sardonic  glint  in  Bel's  eyes. 

Really,  Bel's  effrontery  seemed  to  know  no  limit.  To 
protest  at  noon  that  "casual  women"  meant  nothing  to 
him  any  more,  and  at  midnight  to  make  public  parade  of 
his  interest  in  a  demi-rep !  On  top  of  that,  to  give  his 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  253 

wife  that  odious  look  of  understanding  when  she  passed 
him  with  Summerlad,  a  look  implying  privity  to  some  in- 
decorous secret  involving  them ! 

Simmering  indignation  rendered  her  demeanour  unsym- 
pathetic, perhaps,  while  Lynn  was  being  made  as  comfort- 
able as  might  be  in  his  car,  with  the  shoe  removed  from 
his  poor  hurt  foot  and  the  latter  extended  on  one  of  the 
forward  seats.  And  for  some  minutes  after  they  had  got 
under  way  she  maintained,  in  the  face  of  inquisitive 
sidelong  glances,  a  silence  which  Lynn  seemed  loath 
to  break.  But  in  time  it  began  to  wear  upon  his  nerves. 

"Cross,  sweetheart?"  he  enquired  gently.  "I'm  sorry 
you  let  me  drag  you  away " 

"It  isn't  that,"  Lucinda  replied,  almost  brusquely.  "I 
wasn't  enjoying  myself,  anyway — wanted  to  leave  almost 
as  soon  as  we  arrived." 

"Then  what  is  it  ?" 

She  asked  evasively:  "How's  your  foot?'* 

"Much  better,  thanks.  Guess  I  must've  dislocated  one 
of  the  smaller  bones,  in  that  logging  stunt.  It  doesn't 
feel  just  right.  I'll  get  an  osteopath  in  tomorrow  morning 
and  see  what  he  makes  of  it." 

"It  really  was  hurt  while  we  were  dancing,  then?" 

"What  do  you  think  ?  That  I'd  make  a  fuss  like  that 
and  spoil  my  party  just  for  fun?" 

"I  thought  possibly  you  were  pretending  on  my  ac- 
count." 

"You  mean,  because  your  husband  was  there." 

"So  you  did  see  him,  after  all." 

"Yes — but  rather  hoped  you  hadn't." 

"He  wasn't  alone,  Lynn." 

"I  noticed  that,  too." 

"It  was  Miss  Marquis,  wasn't  it?" 

"Yes,  Linda— afraid  it  was." 

"Afraid ?" 

"Your  amiable  husband's  in  for  an  interesting  life,  if 
that  young  woman  has  got  her  claws  into  him." 


254  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

"Lynn:  where  do  you  suppose  the  girl  has  been  all 
this  time,  since  that  night  she  left  the  hotel  ?" 

"Good  Lord !  how  should  I  know  ?" 

"People  don't  drop  out  of  sight  like  that  in  Hollywood. 
One  keeps  meeting  them  if  they're  in  Town,  one  can't 
help  it — there  are  so  few  places  to  go.  It  seems  funny 
she  should  disappear  so  completely  for — how  long  is  it? 
four  weeks?  five? — and  then  turn  up  in  Bel's  company." 

"It  is  funny,"  Summerlad  agreed  in  a  tone  that  rang 
true. 

"I'm  only  wondering  where  he  fell  in  with  her." 

"Well,"  Lynn  submitted :  "I  daresay  if  you  were  to  ask 
him  ...  " 

"Or  if  you  were  to  ask  her !" 

But  immediately  Lucinda  repented  her  resentment  of 
what  she  had  hastily  taken  to  be  an  attempt  to  becloud  im- 
patience with  ill-timed  levity.  For  Lynn  treated  her  to 
the  reproof  of  a  sulky  silence,  in  which  he  persisted  till 
she  felt  constrained,  in  self -justification,  to  adopt  the 
very  tone  that  had  vexed  her. 

"Or  don't  you  think  that  would  be  a  good  idea,  Lynn  ?" 

The  man  shifted  in  his  corner  till  he  sat  half-facing 
her,  his  manner  seriously  defensive. 

"Look  here,  Linda!  I've  known  a  long  time  you  sus- 
pected there  was  something  between  this  Marquis  girl 
and  me — or  had  been " 

"Wait  a  minute,  Lynn :  I  may  be  stupid,  women  in  love 
usually  are,  they  say;  but  that  thought  never  crossed  my 
mind  before  the  moment  when,  back  there  in  the  restau- 
rant, I  saw  you  didn't  want  me  to  know  you'd  seen  her." 

"Then  it  must  have  been  my  conscience,  I  guess." 
Lynn  fumbled  for  and  found  her  hand  beneath  the  rug 
that  covered  their  knees.  "You  see " 

"Oh,  I  see!"  Lucinda  snapped,  and  drew  her  hand 
away. 

"No,  you  don't " 

"But  I  do,  Lynn :  and  I'm  quite  reasonable  about  it. 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  255 

Only,  I  presume,  I  needed  this  to  make  me  understand 
the  kind  of  man  I'd  given  my  heart  to." 

"That's  unfair.  You  know  perfectly,  nine  times  out  of 
ten  the  man  isn't  to  blame.  Besides " 

"Say,  rather,  I  have  wit  enough  to  know  the  causes  un- 
derlying every  form  of  human  relationship  are  obscure 
past  comprehending.  ...  It  isn't  a  question  with  me 
of  blame  or  excuse,  it's  just  a  feeling  that's  suddenly  come 
over  me,  a  thought  come  home  I've  been  refusing  to  think 
ever  since  we  fell  in  love,  Lynn,  that  I've  committed  my 
life  to  the  care  of  a  man  who  can  never  be  wholly  mine, 
whom  I  must  always  share  with  his  memories  of  other 
sweethearts." 

"Well,  but  what  about  my  feelings?  Do  you  suppose 
it  makes  me  happy  to  be  all  the  time  reminded  that  Bel- 
lamy Druce ?" 

"Please,  dear,  don't.  Forgive  me — I  couldn't  help  it. 
Besides,  there's  this  to  be  said :  if  I  did  love  another  man 
before  I  met  you,  he  was  the  only  one;  while  you  have 
known  so  many  loves  like — like  this  Marquis  girl — not, 
you  know,  not  quite " 

"Oh,  I  get  you !"  Summerlad  laughed  harshly.  "You 
don't  have  to  be  more  plain-spoken.  And  I  can't  deny 
you've  got  some  excuse.  On  the  other  hand,  if  you  love 
me,  you  must  love  me  for  what  I  am,  not  as  I  might  have 
been  if  I'd  stuck  to  pounding  the  ivories  in  Winona's  lead- 
ing nickelodeon." 

"Pounding  the  ivories?" 

"Playing  piano  in  a  moving-picture  theatre  in  a  Wis- 
consin village." 

"I  thought  you  told  us,  one  night,  you'd  never  done 
any  work  before  going  into  pictures  ?" 

"Wouldn't  call  that  work,"  Summerlad  explained  in 
haste  and  not  too  convincingly.  "Work  is  something  that 
puts  real  money  in  the  old  pay  envelope.  I'd  be  ashamed 
to  tell  you  what  the  nickelodeon  handed  me  Saturday 
nights.  But  it  was  just  a  sort  of  a  lark  for  me.  The  reg- 


2S6  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

ular  orchestra  was  an  old  schoolmate  of  mine  and  when 
he  went  on  his  vacation  I  doubled  for  him,  you  see.  Of 
course  my  folks  kicked  like  steers  about  my  taking  a  com- 
mon job  like  that,  but  I  thought  it  was  fun ;  and  watching 
the  screen  for  music  cues  put  it  into  my  head  I  could 
show  'em  something  if  I  ever  got  a  chance  in  pictures." 
.  .  .  Here  Summerlad  was  troubled  by  a  dim  remin- 
iscence of  some  statement  with  which  this  account,  like- 
wise, failed  to  jibe,  and  sheered  back  to  his  former  thread 
of  argument.  "Anyway,  you're  all  wrong  about  Nelly 
Marquis.  She's  one  that  didn't  happen,  if  you've  got  to 
know  the  truth." 

"Oh!"  Lucinda  commented  without  emotion — "didn't 
she?" 

"Along  with  a  hundred  others  I  get  the  credit  for " 

"I  daresay,  by  Hollywood  standards,  'credit'  is  the 
right  word." 

"Oh,  hang  it  all,  Linda  i  you  must  understand.  A  man 
in  my  line  .  .  .  Oh,  you  know  how  it  is  ... 
There'll  always  be  women  ready  to  make  fools  of  them- 
selves over  any  man  who  manages  to  get  a  certain  degree 
of  prominence.  And  an  actor  has  got  to  keep  in  the  public 
eye.  Men  are  just  as  bad,  for  that  matter ;  they'll  run  in 
circles  around  an  actress,  simply  because  she's  on  the 
stage,  who  can't  hold  a  candle  for  looks  or  good  disposi- 
tion to  the  little  girl  who  lives  two  doors  away  on  their 
home  street.  I  met  Nelly  Marquis  shortly  after  I'd  made 
my  first  real  dent  in  pictures.  She'd  come  out  here  to  try 
her  luck,  after  some  experience  on  the  legitimate  stage. 
She  was  so  hard  hit  I  used  to  be  afraid  to  leave  the  house 
until  I'd  sent  out  scouts  to  make  sure  the  coast  was  clear. 
I've  always  thought  that  trouble  of  hers  was  more  than 
half  responsible  for  her  mania  about  me." 

"What  trouble?" 

"Dope.  She's  a  hop  nut.  Coke — cocaine's  her  big  bet. 
That's  what  her  friend  the  doctor  boggled  about  telling 
you — must've  been  the  trouble,  that  time  you  found  her 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  257 

stretched  out :  an  overdose.  I  didn't  like  to  tell  you  be- 
cause— well,  frankly,  I  didn't  want  you  to  think  I  knew  so 
much  about  the  girl." 

"Oh,  what  a  pity !" 

"I  can't  hold  myself  responsible " 

"But  why  should  you  ?" 

"I  mean,  I  don't  believe  it  was  simply  disappointment 
drove  her  to  it.  ...  Hang  it !  I  can't  seem  to  help 
talking  like  an  ass  tonight.  What  I'm  trying  to  say  is 
this :  Nelly  took  to  the  dope  after  I'd  met  her,  but  only, 
I  believe,  because  she  got  in  with  the  wrong  crowd.  That's 
easy  in  Hollywood.  It's  hard  to  tell  till  you  are  in  with 
them.  And  there's  an  awful  lot  of  that  sort  of  thing  goes 
on  more  or  less  quietly  out  here.  They  lead  one  another 
on.  When  they've  tried  everything  else  they  take  a 
chance  on  the  hop  to  see  if  there's  really  anything  in  it ; 
and  then  they're  gone.  They  drift  into  little  cliques  and 
have  parties,  ether  parties  and  that  sort  of  thing,  you 
know,  where  they  choose  one  by  lot  to  stay  off  the  stuff 
and  watch  the  others  to  make  sure  nobody  strangles  to 
death  while  they  lie  around  him  in  a  circle " 

Lucinda  lifted  her  hands  to  her  ears.  "Please,  Lynn, 
please !  I  don't  want  to  hear  any  more.  It's  too  dread- 
ful!" 

"I'm  sorry.  I  only  wanted  you  to  understand  why  I  felt 
I  had  to  warn  you  against  Nelly.  She's  unfortunate,  God 
knows,  but  she's  dangerous,  too.  They  all  are,  once  the 
stuff  gets  a  hold  on  them,  there's  nothing  they  won't  do, 
no  lie  they  won't  tell  ..." 

"And  this  is  what  goes  on  in  this  earthly  paradise !" 

"It  isn't  California,  it  isn't  Hollywood,  it's  human  na- 
ture, one  sort  of  human  nature.  You'll  find  the  same 
thing  going  on  in  every  big  city ;  read  the  newspaper  ac- 
counts of  the  campaign  against  the  drug  traffic.  Only, 
out  here  we  know  more  about  it,  because  the  studios  make 
it  more  or  less  one  big  village,  and  it's  hard  to  keep  any- 
thing quiet,  talk  will  get  about  ..." 


258  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

They  were  drawing  near  the  cross-road  that  led  ta 
Summerlad's  bungalow.  He  bent  forward  and  spoke  to 
the  driver,  and  the  car  held  on  toward  Hollywood. 

"I'm  taking  you  home  first,  Linda.  My  foot  isn't 
troubling  me  now  to  speak  of,  and  .  .  .  Well:  talk- 
ing about  how  rapidly  gossip  spreads  made  me  think  it 
would  be  better  you  shouldn't  be  seen  driving  up  to  my 
place  with  me  at  this  time  of  night." 

With  a  stabbing  pain  of  loneliness  and  penitence,  Lu- 
cinda.  perceived  that  she  had  only  Lynn's  love  and  consid- 
eration to  rely  upon  for  salvation  from  the  gins  and  pit- 
falls of  this  outre  world  in  which  she  lived,  self-outlawed 
from  her  kind.  No  one  else  cared,  not  another  soul  in 
all  Los  Angeles  would  lift  a  hand  in  her  behalf  save  at 
the  dictates  of  self-interest. 

And  in  a  sudden  passion  she  turned  and  clung  to  him 
again,  begging  forgiveness  for  her  suspicions  and  com- 
plaints. And  Summerlad  soothed  her,  patting  gently  the 
head  that  rested  on  his  shoulder,  smiling  over  it  confiden- 
tially at  the  smiling  midnight  moon. 


XXXIII 

LUCINDA  dated  from  that  Saturday  the  dawn  of  a 
fortnight  when  everything  went  wrong  for  her  with 
such  regularity  that,  in  the  end,  the  burden  of  its  crosses 
grew  too  sore,  the  woman  had  been  something  more^than 
merely  mortal  whose  stores  of  fortitude  and  forbearance 
had  not  run  low. 

Naturally  she  blamed  Bellamy    .    .     . 

In  a  way  he  asked  for  this,  giving  her  too  little  chance 
to  forget  that  the  sunlight  had  been  kind  before  his 
shadow  fell  again  athwart  her  eyes.  Now  when  skies 
were  overcast  and  the  wind  had  a  tooth,  Bel  figured  in 
the  picture  as  a  sort  of  stormy  petrel,  forever  to  be  seen 
wheeling  somewhere  within  the  vague  of  the  horizon. 

Fare  where  she  would  on  diversion  bent,  Lucinda 
seemed  fated  always  to  encounter  Bel,  and  too  often  in 
the  company  of  the  Marquis  girl;  while  at  the  studio  it 
didn't  matter  much  which  way  she  turned,  she  could 
hardly  avoid  the  sight  of  her  husband  buzzing  about  on 
the  business  of  his  new  enterprise,  and  apparently  find- 
ing it  all  great  fun. 

To  one  who  recalled  the  dilettante  Bellamy  of  New 
York  days,  there  was  matter  enough  for  amazement  in 
the  gusto  he  had  lately  discovered  for  work  that  nothing 
required  him  to  do,  in  the  amount  of  real  energy,  enter- 
prise and  excutive  ability  which  he  was  contributing  to 
this  new  amusement.  For  Lucinda  refused  to  take  seri- 
ously his  infatuation  with  the  motion-picture  business;  it 
wasn't  real,  she  insisted  to  herself,  it  wouldn't  last,  he 
was  putting  it  on  just  to  plague  her  .  .  . 

None  the  less  he  went  to  work  with  a  will,  and  took  little 
259 


260  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

more  than  a  week  to  assemble  a  producing  unit,  engage  a 
company  of  players,  and  cause  camera-work  to  be  begun 
under  the  direction  of  one  who,  observed  occasionally  and 
from  a  distance,  conveyed  a  refreshing  impression  of  quiet 
authority. 

Inasmuch  as  special  sets  could  hardly  have  been  de- 
signed and  erected  on  such  short  notice,  most  of  the  com- 
pany's first  activities  were  staged  away  from  the  studio,  "on 
location,"  and  Lucinda  knew  nothing  of  them  save  through 
hearsay.  Gossip  had  it,  however,  that  Bellamy  was  em- 
ploying no  star  to  carry  his  initial  production,  but  was 
rather  making  a  "special" — the  term  which  the  motion- 
picture  trade  reads  to  mean  a  picture  basing  its  claims 
solely  on  the  strength  of  its  story  as  interpreted  by  a 
well-balanced  cast.  Glimpses  of  Nelly  Marquis  in  make- 
up, now  and  then,  warranted  the  assumption  that  she  had 
been  given  a  part  in  the  picture. 

But  their  paths  seldom  crossed,  notwithstanding  that 
they  were  using  the  same  studio,  and  when  it  did  the 
young  woman  somehow  always  happened  to  be  possessed 
by  an  abstraction  too  profound  to  permit  of  her  seeing  Lu- 
cinda. 

Bel,  on  the  other  hand,  was  already  ready  with  a  smile 
and  a  friendly  hail — "The  top  of  the  morning  to  you,  Miss 
Lee !  Tis  hopeful  I  am  the  work,  God  bless  it !  is  doing 
well" — or  some  similar  absurdity;  but  never  a  hint 
that  there  had  ever  been  any  terms  between  them  other 
than  the  most  formal. 

Gratitude  for  this  much  consideration  rendered  it  no 
more  easy  to  respond  in  the  same  spirit.  Lucinda  had 
never  known  anything  more  baffling  than  the  absence  of 
any  justifiable  grounds  for  objecting  to  Bel's  presence  in 
the  studio.  For  if  it  were  her  privilege  to  seek  to  become 
a  star  of  the  cinema,  it  was  equally  his  to  launch  out  as  a 
producer.  .  .  . 

The  daily  disappointment  that  waited  on  efforts  to  find 
other  quarters  aggravated  her  sense  of  hardship.  Lu- 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  261 

cinda  learned  to  listen  impatiently  for  the  expressions  of 
despair  which  unfailingly  wound  up  Lontaine's  reports : 
"If  we've  got  to  clear  out  of  this — I  don't  know,  Linda — 
I'm  afraid  it  means  either  buy  or  build."  She  began  to 
be  afraid  it  did.  Studio  accommodations  were  reported 
never  to  have  been  so  much  in  demand  on  the  Coast. 
Every  available  stage  was  doing  double  duty,  two  com- 
panies crowding  their  activities  wherever  possible  into  a 
space  formerly  reserved  for  one.  Neither  knew  they  any 
rest  by  night,  when  belated  souls  would  see  the  great  roofs 
of  glass  livid  with  the  incandescence  of  Cooper-Hewitt 
tubes,  burning  like  vast  green  opals  against  the  dense 
blue-black  of  early  morning  skies. 

The  tidal  wave  of  the  cinema  craze  that  in  those  years 
swept  the  world  was  rearing  its  golden  crest  to  its  giddiest 
height;  and  the  people  of  the  studios  rode  in  glee  where 
the  aureate  spindrift  blew,  reckless  of  the  law  that  every 
wave  that  lifts  must  fall,  too  drunk  with  money,  altitude 
and  speed  to  know  that  already,  beneath  their  very  feet, 
the  crest  was  curving  in  upon  itself,  the  f anged  rocks  were 
waiting. 

Zinn,  wily  campaigner  that  he  was  by  instinct  and  train- 
ing, shrewd  reader  of  signs  and  portents  illegible  to  the 
general,  foresaw  the  coming  debacle  and — when  he  had 
made  every  provision  against  being  overwhelmed  in  it — 
assumed  in  private  the  prophet's  mantle. 

"Been  a  good  game  while  it  lasted,"  he  observed  to  Lu- 
cinda  one  day,  "but  it's  on  its  way  now,  all  right.  I  was 
reading  a  piece  in  the  paper  last  night,  all  about  how  Cali- 
fornia seen  three  big  booms,  that  time  when  they  dis- 
covered gold,  next  a  real  estate  speculation  craze,  and 
now  the  movin'-pictures.  The  first  two  blew  up,  same  as 
this  will  before  long.  I  guess  I  and  you  are  lucky  fools  to 
of  got  a  look  in  while  the  going  was  good." 

"Lucky?"  Lucinda  questioned  dubiously. 

A  grin  of  indescribable  irony  glimmered  on  the  swarthy, 
shrewd  features.  "Something  to  tell  the  kiddies  about 


262  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

when  they  gather  around  your  knee,  Miss  Lee:  'What 
Grandma  done  and  seen  in  the  wild  old  days  in  Holly- 
wood.' " 

"I  don't  know  about  that.  And  what  makes  you  think 
times  will  ever  be  different  ?" 

"Take  it  from  me,  little  lady,  things  can't  hold  up  much 
longer  the  way  they  been  in  pictures.  Nobody  with  a 
brain  in  his  bean  would  look  for  it.  Trouble  is,  nobody 
like  that  would  take  the  fillum  business  serious  when  it  was 
learning  to  walk.  Now  it's  wearing  long  pants  and  driv- 
ing its  own  machine,  it's  no  use  expecting  it  to  listen 
to  what  brains  got  to  tell  it.  All  the  same,  if  it  don't — 
good  night! 

"Ah,  I  see  what's  going  on  all  the  time!  Audiences 
sick  of  punk  pictures  and  putting  up  a  howl  for  better, 
producers  combing  the  world  for  authors,  artists,  drama- 
tists, all  the  people  what  have  got  the  stuff  pictures  need 
to  make  'em  good — and  the  old  guard  back  here  dug  in 
and  ready  to  die  before  they'll  surrender  the  trenches  to 
anybody  that  knows  more'n  they  do.  And  why  wouldn't 
they?  It's  meat  and  drink  and  gasoline  to  them  to  keep 
things  going  like  they  are.  Where'd  be  the  sense  in  them 
giving  the  glad  hand  to  the  guy  who's  got  it  in  him  to 
do  them  out  of  a  nice  soft  job? 

"Take  authors,  now.  We're  having  a  big  run  on  authors 
just't  present.  The  producer  figures  anybody  who's  got 
brains  enough  to  write  a  novel  that  won't  wobble  if  a  per- 
son gives  it  a  hard  look,  ought  to  have  brains  enough  to  do 
as  good  with  a  picture  story.  But  does  he  get  a  chanst? 
Don't  make  me  laugh.  The  poor  simps  come  out  here  on 
every  train  with  their  eyes  shining,  full  of  joy  and  pep  on 
account  of  what  the  producers  promised  they  was  going 
to  let  'em  do  in  pictures.  And  every  train  takes  'em  back. 
What's  the  answer? 

"The  answer  gen'ly's  a  bird  in  ridin'-breeches  and  a 
property  high-brow,  calls  himself  director-general  or 
something  gaudy  like  that — same  bird's  been  making  the 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  263 

pictures  the  producers  want  to  make  better.  He  gives 
Friend  Author  the  glad  smile  and  a  hard  look  and  starts 
right  in  telling  him  all  what  he  can't  do  in  pictures.  Au- 
thor wants  to  know  how  come.  'Because  I  say  you  can't, 
and  I  know  everything  they  is  to  know  about  pictures.' 
Author  asks  producer  what  about  it.  Producer  says, 
says  he :  'If  my  director-general  says  you  can't,  stands  to 
reason  you  can't.  Say:  how  do  you  get  this  way?  I 
brought  you  out  here  to  learn  you  to  make  pictures,  not 
for  you  to  learn  my  director-general.'  Author  sees  the 
point  and  fades  back  East.  Director-general  tells  pro- 
ducer :  'Too  bad  about  that  poor  fish,  but  he  didn't  savvy 
the  picture  angle,  and  I  couldn't  make  him  see  it  nohow.' 

"Or  take  another  case.  Producer  buys  a  big  story,  like, 
now  ..." 

"Paradise  Lost,"  Lucinda  suggested  mischievously. 

"Who  wrote  it?" 

"John  Milton." 

"Never  heard  of  him.    Make  a  good  picture?" 

"I'm  afraid  it  would  be  difficult.    But  it's  a  big  story." 

"All  right.  Producer  hands  this,  now,  Paradise  Lost 
to  his  scenario  editor.  She  reads  it,  turns  pale  around  the 
gills,  sends  out  an  emergency  call  for  the  director-general, 
says  to  him,  says  she:  'Listen,  sweetheart,  this'll  be  a 
knock-out  if  it  ever  gets  on  the  screen  the  way  it's  wrote. 
The  guy  what  wrote  this  knew  pictures  before  they  was 
invented.'  Director-general  says :  'Gosh !  that  won't  never 
do,  or  first  thing  you  know  we'll  have  this  boob  Milton 
on  the  lot  telling  us  our  business.  Stew  up  the  continuity 
to  suit  yourself,  pet,  and  leave  the  rest  to  me.'  Fin'ly 
Paradise  Lost  gets  on  the  screen  as  'A  Cyril  de  Menthe 
Production  entitled  Sex  Against  Sex,  by  Queenie  Hoozis, 
featuring  Hope  Honeybunch  with  bathroom  fixtures  by 
Joseph  Urban  and  telephones  hidden  by  Sherlock  Holmes, 
suggested  by  a  magazine  story  by  J.  Milton.'  If  it  gets  by, 
Queenie  and  Cyril  cop  the  credit.  If  it  falls  down  they 
tell  the  producer  they  done  their  best,  but  he'd  ought 


264  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

to  of  known  better,  it  ain't  no  use  trying  to  make  pictures 
only  from  stories  framed  special  for  the  screen  by  some- 
body who  cut  their  eye-teeth  on  a  strip  of  celluloid — like 
Queenie.  Every  time  anything  like  that  happens  the  fillum 
business  takes  a  long  stride  forward — towards  the  end  of 
its  rope." 

"Still,  I  don't  quite  see " 

"It  comes  down  to  this,  Miss  Lee :  nothing  short  of  an 
earthquake's  ever  going  to  jar  the  Queenies  and  Cyrils 
loose  from  their  jobs  and  give  brains  a  chanst  to  horn  in." 

"But  if  you  see  all  this  so  clearly,  Mr.  Zinn,  why  don't 
you  start  the  indicated  reforms  yourself?" 

"Who,  me  ?  Naw,  naw,  little  lady ;  quit  your  kidding.  I 
don't  know  enough.  Me  try  to  sit  in  with  sure-enough 
brains  ?  Say !  I  seen  the  way  you  looked  when  I  wanted 
to  know  who  wrote  Paradise  Lost.  No :  Isadore  Zinn 
belongs  in  with  the  rest  p.f  the  bunch  that's  been  good 
enough  up  to  about  now  but's  got  to  be  junked  before 
pictures  will  get  a  chanst  to  be  any  better'n  they  ought  to 
be.  Oh,  I  ain't  got  no  kick  coming;  I've  made  mine  and 
put  it  away  where  nothing  real  mean's  ever  going  to  hap- 
pen to  it;  and  when  the  sky  falls  on  Hollywood  it'll  find 
me  some  other  place,  playing  pinochle  and  absolutely  inno- 
cent of  the  en-tire  fillum  business." 

"You  don't  seriously  believe  that  will  ever  happen." 

"It'll  happen  just  as  quick's  Wall  Street  wakes  up  to 
the  way  it's  been  gypped — and  it's  moaning  and  tossing  in 
its  sleep  right  now.  Wall  Street  put  up  its  good  money 
because  pictures  made  half-way  on  the  level  earned  more 
and  earned  it  quicker'n  any  other  investment  they  could 
find.  Wall  Street  didn't  worry  none  about  what  graft 
was  being  gotten  away  with  as  long's  they  thought  they 
was  going  to  get  their  money  back  and  a  hundred  per 
cent,  profit  every  so  often.  But  that  was  yesterday,  when 
audiences  would  shell  out  cheerful  and  sit  through  any- 
thing because  pictures  moved.  Today  they're  still  lining 
up  at  the  box-office,  but  only  because  they  can't  believe 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  265 

the  day  won't  never  come  when  they'll  maybe  see  some- 
thing worth  their  time  and  coin.  Tomorrow  they'll  be 
saying,  'Show  me!'  before  they'll  dig  up  as  much's  a 
thin  dime.  And  that's  when  Wall  Street's  due  to  tumble 
to  it,  they's  only  one  way  for  it  to  save  its  investments  in 
the  fillum  game,  and  that  is  take  hold  of  it  and  run  it  like 
a  honest-to-goodness  business.  And  when  that  happens, 
when  the  fancy  salaries  get  pared  down  to  the  quick,  and 
the  good  graft's  all  gone,  and  there  ain't  no  way  no  more 
for  the  assistant  property-man  to  charge  the  upkeep  of  his 
lady-friend's  limousine  to  overhead,  and  the  director  what 
wants  money  to  build  ancient  Rome  with  and  burn  it  down 
for  a  showy  interlude  to  a  society  comedy  will  only  get  the 
hearty  laugh — why,  along  about  that  time  a  terrible  lot  of 
people  are  going  to  find  out  California's  a  cold,  hard  place, 
spite  of  the  climate  and  all,  and  a  heap  of  highly  hand- 
painted  automobiles  is  going  to  be  dumped  on  the  used- 
car  market  in  Los  Angeles." 

Some  disturbing  mental  echo  of  this  screed  one  day 
inspired  Lucinda  to  devote  several  painful  hours  to  totting 
up  her  bank  account,  a  duty  which  she  had  been  relig- 
iously forgetting  for  months,  and  whose  performance 
brought  to  light  the  fact  that  she  had  already  given  Harry 
Lontaine  cheques  to  his  order  in  the  sum  of  two-hundred 
and  ten  thousand  dollars,  to  be  cashed  by  him  and  depos- 
ited to  the  credit  of  Linda  Lee  Inc. 

If  she  felt  slightly  dashed  by  this  discovery,  it  was  less 
because  of  the  money  involved — for  she  had  from  the  first 
been  prepared  to  pay  more  dearly  for  her  whistle  than 
Lontaine  had  declared  it  would  cost — than  because  the  end 
was  not  yet,  the  first  picture  remained  unfinished,  many 
heavy  payments  on  account  of  it  were  still  to  be  met,  and 
her  private  extravagances,  added  to  the  financing  of  Linda 
Lee  Inc.,  had  left  little  worth  mentioning  of  the  money 
which  Harford  Willis,  at  her  requisition,  had  paid  into 
her  drawing  account  in  New  York. 

It  was  now  necessary  to  write  Willis  and  ask  him  to 


266  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

find  her  more  money;  and  that  involved,  as  a  matter  of 
simple  courtesy  to  that  old  friend  and  a  devoted  steward 
of  her  interests,  explanations  which  she  would  much 
rather  not  make  just  yet. 

But  her  only  other  course  was  to  consult  Lontaine  in 
the  faint  hope  that  out  of  the  sums  entrusted  to  him  there 
might  be  enough  left  in  the  company's  treasury  to  see  it 
through  the  present  production.  And  this  she  hesitated 
to  do  because  of  an  intuitive  feeling  that  he  would  take 
this  as  directly  challenging  his  competency  to  handle  her 
money  if  not  his  good  faith.  Lontaine  was  such  a  sensi- 
tive soul  .  .  .  However,  he  spared  her  the  pain  of 
deciding  to  do  nothing,  for  the  next  time  they  met  he 
blandly  advised  Lucinda  that  the  company  could  do  with 
another  twenty  thousand  as  soon  as  she  could  find  time 
to  draw  the  cheque;  and  on  learning  that  it  would  have 
to  wait  a  few  days,  or  until  she  could  hear  from  Willis, 
seemed  considerably  discountenanced ;  or  else  fancy  mis- 
led her. 

As  for  that,  it  might  have  been  merely  her  fancy  that 
Lontaine  thenceforward  betrayed  a  disposition  to  keep 
out  of  her  way,  and  when  he  couldn't  was  at  pains  to  iron 
out  the  wrinkles  in  his  temper  before  venturing  to  respond 
to  her  always  friendly  advances;  that  perceptible  hesita- 
tion prefaced  the  utterances  Lontaine  addressed  to  her, 
constraint  had  crept  into  their  relations,  till  then  so  easy 
and  cordial,  and  added  opacity  was  to  be  remarked  in  the 
stare  of  those  introspective  blue  eyes. 

Since  it  was  unthinkable  that  she  should  be  long  em- 
barrassed, for  want  of  ready  money,  or  that  Lontaine 
should  believe  she  could  be,  Lucinda  couldn't  imagine 
why  he  should  show  such  signals  of  a  mind  perturbed,  and 
could  only  do  her  best  to  dwell  upon  the  matter  not  at  all. 
Heaven  knew  she  had  other  worries  a-plenty  to  cope  with ! 

It  was  annoying,  for  example,  to  feel  that  one  was 
expected  to  feign  blindness  to  what  was  going  on  under 
one's  very  nose,  namely  Fanny's  essays  in  the  ancient  and 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  267 

vulgar  art  of  vamping,  with  Bel  in  the  role  of  voluntary 
victim — or  a  vastly  better  actor  than  he  had  ever  before 
shown  himself  to  be.  Nor  did  the  quite  transparent 
naivete  of  Fanny's  methods,  as  Lucinda  viewed  them, 
cause  patience  to  be  any  the  less  a  labored  virtue.  If  you 
asked  Lucinda,  Hollywood  had  added  no  finish  to  Fanny's 
cosmopolitan  technique  of  flirtation,  but  rather  the  re- 
verse; in  this  respect,  as  in  too  many  others,  Fanny 
seemed  to  have  taken  on  a  shade  too  much  the  colour  of 
her  environment.  One  looked  and  made  allowances  for 
the  crudely  obvious  in  women  educated  by  directors  to 
believe  that  certain  elementary  gestures  (for  which  see 
any  screen)  were  surely  efficacious  with  men  of  every 
class  alike.  But  Fanny  knew  better  than  to  make  herself 
grotesque. 

Such,  however,  was  the  one  word  that  seemed  to  suit 
the  way  she  went  with  Bellamy.  And  when  one  had 
watched  her  practise  and  repeat  without  end  the  trick  of 
the  upward,  sham-timid  glance  of  eyes  demurely  wise,  ac- 
companied by  the  provocative  pout  of  aggressively  kiss- 
able  life,  the  look  that  said  openly:  I  think  you're  rather 
nice  and  I  know  I  am;  so  why  are  we  wasting  time? — 
and  had  seen  it  work  an  apparently  invariable  effect  upon 
one  who  called  himself  a  man  of  the  world,  who  should 
long  since  have  graduated  from  the  social  kindergartens 
where  such  tactics  are  vogue — well,  one  simply  longed  to 
cuff  his  ears  and  tell  him  to  quit  being  such  a  silly  fool. 
It  gave  one  furiously  to  repent  having  relinquished  the 
right  to  bestow  upon  Bel  gratuitous  advice  for  his  own 
good. 

Wherefore  it  came  to  pass  that,  as  a  general  thing, 
whenever  Fanny  was  wanted  for  a  scene  and  was  not  to 
be  found  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  set,  she  would  ul- 
timately be  discovered  somewhere  on  the  lot,  more  often 
than  not  in  the  most  public  corner  of  it,  industriously  re- 
hearsing her  wiles  for  the  debatable  benefit  of  Bellamy. 

And  this  the  man  who  had  declared  that  his  besetting 


268  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

sin  had  lost  all  savour  for  him  since  it  had  done  its  part 
to  alienate  his  wife ! 

Lucinda  nevertheless  assured  herself  that  she  didn't 
so  much  mind  Bel's  inconsistency — for  what  were  his 
protestations  to  her  today? — or  even  Fanny's  common- 
place coquetries ;  it  was  the  surreptitious  airs  with  which 
Fanny  sought  to  envelop  these  goings-on,  the  reticence 
which  she  persisted  in  observing  in  respect  of  their  effect, 
that  made  their  joint  stupidity  maddening.  For  never 
since  that  afternoon  when  Bel  had  caught  Lucinda  in  the 
act  of  kissing  Summerlad  before  a  camera,  and  Fanny  had 
playfully  announced  her  intention  of  vamping  him  to  a 
fare-ye-well,  had  she  chosen  to  mention  his  name  in  any 
relation  to  herself.  In  the  local  vernacular  which  she  had 
been  so  quick  to  pick  up,  Fanny  seemed  to  think  she  was 
getting  away  with  something. 

Lucinda  resisted  the  temptation  to  disillusion  her  friend 
mostly  because  of  a  faint-hearted  hope  that  Fanny  might 
at  any  moment  redeem  herself  with  a  scornful  report  of 
Bel's  gullibility,  but  in  part  because  of  doubt  whether  Bel 
were  being  taken  in  as  completely  as  he  appeared  to  be. 
It  was  just  possible  that  this  old  hand  at  philandering  was 
simply  playing  Fanny's  game  to  find  out  what  she  meant 
by  it.  Certainly  he  showed  no  propensity  to  favouritism. 
The  path  of  his  amourette  with  the  Marquis  girl  ran  par- 
allel to  that  which  he  pursued  with  Fanny,  perhaps  ran 
faster,  but  strangely  proved  not  half  so  tiresome  to  the 
spectator.  In  spite  of  all  that  Summerlad  had  said  of  her, 
Lucinda  entertained  an  honest  admiration  for  the  Marquis 
as  she  was  today,  considered  her  physically  quite  a 
fascinating  creature,  which  she  unquestionably  was  in  this 
revised  phase,  and  found  what  Bel  saw  in  her  far  more 
easy  to  understand  than  what  he  saw  in  Fanny.  This  was 
something  partly  to  be  accounted  for  by  the  circumstance 
that  Lucinda  saw  comparatively  so  little  of  Miss  Marquis, 
saw  her  so  seldom  save  at  a  distance  and  when  she 
was  on  her  dignity — when,  as  Summerlad  had  it,  she  had 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  26£ 

slapped  on  thick  the  make-up  of  a  lady.  That  it  was  in 
good  measure  make-up  merely  Lucinda  had  memories  to 
testify.  For  all  that,  she  saw  the  girl  comporting  herself 
toward  Bellamy  with  a  manner  which  she  thought  Fanny 
might  have  copied  to  good  profit.  But  when  she  confided 
as  much  to  Summerlad  she  found  him  darkly  suspicious 
of  Nelly's  present  good  behaviour. 

"Don't  worry,"  he  advised:  "That  young  woman  will 
surprise  you  yet.  She's  being  nice  now  and  enjoying  the 
novelty.  Chances  are  she  took  the  cure,  that  time  she  dis- 
appeared. But  it  never  lasts.  Once  the  old  hop  gets  its 
hooks  into  anybody  it  never  lets  go,  really.  It  may  seem 
to  be  licked  for  a  while,  but  it's  only  waiting  for  a  moment 
of  weakness.  Wait  till  Nelly  gets  bored  playing  up  to  the 
gentlemanly  attentions  of  your  friend,  Mr.  Druce,  wait  till 
she  wants  him  to  do  something  he  doesn't  want  to.  Just 
wait.  If  you  admire  fireworks,  believe  me,  Linda,  your 
waiting  won't  be  wasted." 

Having  said  which,  Summerlad  made  haste  to  change 
the  subject.  But  Lucinda  had  already  learned  that  any 
reference  to  Nelly  Marquis  was  calculated  to.  make  him 
restive.  A  circumstance  in  itself  not  the  least  irksome 
of  the  many  which  she  counted  as  afflictions.  She  needed 
badly  a  congenial  confidant,  and  Lynn  was  newly  become 
anything  but  that,  had,  indeed,  never  seemed  quite  the 
same  since  the  first  night  of  his  return.  Another  black 
mark  to  add  to  Bellamy's  score.  For  Lynn  was  inevitably 
and  pardonably  disgusted  with  the  situation  at  the  studio, 
where  he  couldn't  turn  around  without  running  into  either 
the  Marquis  girl  or  the  husband  of  the  woman  he  loved. 
Then  much  of  the  old  delight  in  sharing  working-quarters 
had  been  lost  through  their  tacit  agreement  that,  under 
these  changed  conditions,  a  trifle  more  reserve  wouldn't 
come  amiss  when  they  met  under  the  public  eye.  But  now,, 
even  when  they  were  alone,  the  old-time  spontaneity  was 
missing,  and,  Lucinda  was  sure,  through  no  fault  of  hers. 
It  was  in  Lynn  that  she  thought  to  detect  a  strange  new 


270  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

absence  of  ease,  what  she  could  almost  have  termed  a 
hangdog  air,  a  furtive  fashion  of  watching  her,  if  he 
thought  she  wasn't  aware,  that  was  swift  to  change,  as 
soon  as  he  found  she  was,  to  a  species  of  feeble  bravado 
distastefully  reminiscent  of  Bel  when  Bel  had  been  drink- 
ing just  enough  to  feel  it  and  not  enough  to  have  become 
callous;  an  air  of  having  done  something  he  oughtn't 
and  living  in  instant  dread  of  being  found  out. 

Lynn  had  such  an  air  with  her,  that  is,  if  Lucinda  were 
not  self -deceived,  if  she  didn't  imagine  it  all,  if  it  wiere 
anything  but  an  hallucination  conjured  up  by  a  mind  mor- 
bidly conscious  of  Bel's  shadow  in  the  offing,  the  shadow 
of  that  relationship  which,  while  unresolved,  must  ever 
rest  between  the  lover  and  the  wife. 


XXXIV 

BUT  these  peculiar  tribulations  rankled  neither  sever- 
ally nor  even  in  their  sum  more  distressfully  than 
did  the  trouble  at  the  studio,  where  daily  the  tension  of 
ill-feeling  bet  wen  actress  and  director  grew  more  taut,  as 
Lucinda's  earlier  misgivings  ripened  into  articulate  dissat- 
isfaction with  Nolan's  methods  and  their  fruits,  and  as 
that  sensitive  artistic  soul  reacted  deplorably,  in  terms  of 
begrudged  civility  at  best,  and  at  other  times  of  stubborn 
Celtic  oppugnancy. 

Dilatory  tactics  in  directing  had  become  too  fast  a  habit 
with  Nolan  to  be  broken  at  will,  and  had  forced  him  to 
forego  his  chance  at  that  attractive  job  in  the  East.  For 
which,  of  course,  he  would  never  forgive  Lucinda.  And 
he  was  otherwise  so  fed  up  with  the  feeling  that  he  was 
unappreciated,  that  he  had  taken  to  fuming  nastily  over 
every  set-back  which  put  off  the  final  "take"  by  so  much 
as  an  hour,  and  indeed  was  more  than  once  only  restrained 
from  "walking  off  the  lot  and  leaving  the  picture  flat"  by 
the  consideration  that  he  had  as  yet  been  able  to  wheedle 
out  of  Lontaine  a  mere  niggardly  half  of  his  contract  fee 
in  advance. 

Aware  of  what  was  in  the  air,  the  supporting  players 
held  their  collective  breath  against  that  explosion  which 
all  felt  was  due  at  any  moment  to  hoist  them  into  the 
same  dement  and  leave  them  there,  belike,  in  indefinite 
suspense.  Individually  they  went  with  a  nice  if  naive 
diplomacy  in  all  their  dealings  with  Miss  Lee  and  Mr. 
Nolan  individually;  for  who  could  foresay  whose  hands 
would  hold  the  symbols  of  power  when  the  dust  had 
settled  ?  But  the  sympathies  of  the  producing  staffs,  to  a 
271 


272  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

man,  Lucinda  was  sensible,  were  with  Nolan ;  and  though 
this  nettled  her  at  times,  she  consoled  herself  with  the 
reflection  that  it  was  after  all  only  natural,  since  the  best 
directors,  that  is  to  say  those  with  the  most  artful  and 
resourceful  press-agents,  hand-pick  their  lieutenants  as  a 
general  custom  and  carry  them  along  as  they  lightly  flit 
from  berth  to  berth.  And  she  derived  a  little  comfort 
from  the  belief  that  the  cameraman  was  on  her  side. 

Cameramen,  being  highly  trained  specialists  in  an  exact- 
ing art,  are  more  often  than  not  men  of  independent 
minds,  iconoclastic  in  their  attitude  toward  the  directors 
with  whom  they  work.  Iturbide  was  of  this  tribe.  He 
knew  his  trade,  not  Nolan  or  any  other  could  instruct 
him  in  it.  If  he  reckoned  the  light  not  right  for  any  take, 
that  scene  would  wait  though  Nolan  raved  and  the  heavens 
quaked.  In  the  choice  of  the  right  angle  for  any  shot  his 
judgment  was  final,  even  Nolan  learned  in  time  not  to 
dispute  it.  And  he  accomplished  his  will  with  a  singular 
economy  of  words  and  emotion,  the  more  remarkable  in 
view  of  the  mercurial  temper  with  which  tradition  accred- 
its the  race  from  whom  he  sprang.  He  was  Mexican,  a 
tall  and  rangey  body,  with  eyes  as  beautiful  as  a  woman's, 
and  much  to  the  silken  courtesy  of  the  Spanish  whose 
blood  he  shared.  "No,  Mr.  Nolan,"  he  would  announce  in 
a  strongly  accented  and  resonant  voice,  shaking  his  head 
sorrowfully  after  setting  up  his  camera  and  assaying  the 
light  by  peering  through  a  strip  of  negative  film  exposed 
behind  the  lens — "no,  I  no  take — light  no  good.  Tomor- 
row we  take,  maybe  light  better  then."  And  while  Nolan, 
who  as  like  as  not  had  voluptuously  kept  a  regiment  of 
extra  people  waiting  all  day  to  work  in  this  the  last  hour 
of  the  afternoon — while  Nolan  spluttered  and  swore  and 
offered  to  go  down  on  his  knees  if  prayers  would  move 
Iturbide  to  change  his  mind,  the  cameraman  would  be 
placidly  superintending  the  demounting  of  his  camera, 
.and  pocketing  the  darling  lens  whose  care  he  never  would 
trust  to  hands  other  than  his  own.  And  that  scene  would 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  273 

not  be  taken  until  the  next  day — not  then,  if  the  light 
were  not  exactly  to  Iturbide's  liking.  Which  was  one 
among  a  number  of  reasons  why  his  photography  was 
credited  with  having  saved  many  a  picture  otherwise  with- 
out virtue. 

Scrupulous  always  to  avoid  giving  unprovoked  offense, 
in  the  series  of  skirmishes  which  made  the  final  two  weeks 
of  Nolan's  engagement  memorable,  Iturbide  played  the 
part  of  benevolent  neutral ;  but  if  Lucinda  were  not  mis- 
taken in  her  reading  of  his  eyes,  the  best  of  his 
benevolence  was  reserved  for  her. 

Historically — and  setting  aside  minor  clashes  of  opinion 
as  mere  affairs  of  outposts — the  private  war  progressed 
to  its  conclusion  in  three  stages,  which  for  convenience 
may  be  named  the  Battle  of  the  Supper  Club  Set,  the 
Affair  of  the  Comedy  Feet,  and  the  Last  Stand  in  the  Liv- 
ing-Room  Doorway. 

In  the  novel  from  which  the  picture  in  production  took 
its  name  and  little  else,  most  of  the  plot  development  was 
worked  out  in  a  fashionable  supper  club,  where  Lucinda 
in  the  character  of  a  professional  dancer,  figured  nightly 
as  what  for  some  reason  New  York  that  stays  up  nights 
knows  by  the  name  of  "hostess."  The  rooms  of  the  club 
as  described  bore  close  resemblance  to  the  premises  for 
years  tenanted  by  the  Club  de  Vingt  in  East  Fifty-eighth 
street,  to  whose  general  plan,  however,  fanciful  embellish- 
ments had  been  added  in  an  effort  to  make  it  a  frame 
worthy  of  the  dancer's  charms. 

Over  the  lay-out,  or  scheme,  for  this  set,  Lucinda  had 
spent  many  hours  and  much  thought — before  Nolan  found 
time  to  give  the  production  any  attention  whatever — in 
consultation  with  Harry  Lontaine  and  Mr.  Coakley,  the 
talented  young  man  who  served  the  Zinn  Studios  in  the 
capacity  of  general  technical  director:  an  office  which 
as  organized  by  the  motion-picture  trade,  comprehends 
those — among  others — of  architect,  landscape-gardener, 
scene,  house,  sign  and  artist-painter,  interior  decorator, 


274  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

and  amateur  of  the  art  of  every  era,  from  the  Eolithic  to 
that  of  East  Aurora.  And  in  the  end  Lucinda  had  turned 
to  her  work  before  the  camera  well-satisfied  that  Mr. 
Coakley  knew  what  to  do  and  how  to  do  it,  and  would 
assemble  an  excellently  suitable  room  if  left  to  exercise 
his  own  good  taste  and  ingenuity. 

The  most  pretentious  bit  of  building  required  by  the 
production,  the  supper  club  was  the  last  to  be  erected, 
and  wasn't  ready  till  the  beginning  of  the  fourth  week  of 
Nolan's  reign;  as  Lucinda  learned  it  was,  one  evening, 
when  the  assistant-director  circulated  a  call  for  the  entire 
company  to  work  on  it  the  next  day. 

Accordingly,  Lucinda  and  Fanny  strolled  over  to  the 
main  stage,  where,  behind  a  flimsy  fence  of  sides — frames 
of  wood  and  paint-smeared  canvas  held  up  by  struts — the 
precincts  of  the  supper-club  basked  in  the  cynical  glare  of 
Cooper-Hewitts  overhead. 

Inside  the  barricade,  Lucinda  halted  with  a  cry  of 
shocked  remonstrance. 

In  the  middle  of  the  floor,  upon  which  she  was  to  give 
the  solo  dance  which  she  had  been  weeks  rehearsing  under 
a  veteran  professional,  Nolan  stood  vivaciously  lining  out 
tomorrow's  proposed  campaign  for  the  benefit  of  a  group 
composed  of  his  first  assistant,  Mr.  Wells,  Iturbide  and 
the  second  cameraman,  and  Mr.  Coakley. 

There  was  nothing  else  to  break  the  full  force  of  the 
blow  which  fate  had  prepared  for  Lucinda's  expectations. 

Of  the  gay,  exquisite  scheme  upon  which  she  and 
Coakley  had  agreed,  guided  by  the  novel,  there  wasn't  a 
sign.  The  main  masses  of  woodwork  were  here  all  a 
dull,  blank  black.  The  panels,  which  were  to  have  framed 
baskets  of  fruit  and  garlands  of  flowers,  in  low  poly- 
chrome relief-work,  had  yielded  place  to  paintings  in  the 
style  of  French  posters,  of  women  in  antic  postures  and 
clothed  only  enough  to  accent  their  nakedness.  The  little 
tables  that  lined  the  walls  were  dressed  with  cloths 
checquered  staringly  in  red  and  white.  The  imbecile  geom- 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  275 

etry  of  the  Cubists  had  patterned  all  the  draperies  and 
upholstery  materials  in  weird  juxtapositions  of  colour 
apparently  intended  to  give  away  the  grisly  cosmic  secret 
that  there  was  something  rotten  in  the  solar  spectrum.  And 
at  the  far  end  of  the  room  there  was  .  .  .  Lucinda 
looked  twice  to  make  sure  her  eyes  did  not  deceive  her. 
But,  no ;  there  it  was :  a  bar,  a  veritable  zinc  of  the  com- 
mon Parisian  cabaret. 

And  while  she  gaped  aghast,  hysterically  torn  by  a 
desire  to  scream  with  lunatic  laughter  and  an  impulse  to 
weep  and  dance  with  rage,  Nolan  spied  her  and,  deserting 
his  audience,  tripped  briskly  over,  beaming  happily. 

"Well,  Miss  Lee !  how  about  it,  eh  ?  A  little  slice  off  the 
top  of  the  real  Bohemia,  I'll  tell  the  world.  And  wait  till 
you  see  how  she  screens.  O  bay-bee !  but  this  glad  young 
set's  gonna  photograph  like  a  million  dollars." 

Lucinda  choked  down  the  anger  with  which  her  lips 
were  tremulous.  For  an  instant  she  stared  hopelessly 
at  Nolan,  comprehending  that  this  vile  parody  of  the  de- 
sign she  had  approved  was  due  wholly  to  his  arbitrary 
action  in  contradicting  the  plans  without  reference  to  her 
wishes.  And  she  could  have  cried  with  disappointment 
and  vexation.  As  a  matter  of  simple  fact,  her  eyes  did  fill 
in  that  bitter  moment  when  she  was  made  poignantly 
aware  of  how  high  her  hopes  had  been  and  how  heart- 
lessly frustrated,  and  how  helpless  she  was  to  express  a 
tithe  of  her  indignation  without  jeopardizing  the  good  of 
the  picture. 

If  she  spoke  her  mind  it  were  inconceivable  that  Nolan 
should  consent  to  continue  as  director.  And  grave  and 
well-grounded  as  was  her  dissatisfaction  with  him,  Lu- 
cinda was  not  yet  ready  to  believe  it  would  benefit  the  pic- 
ture to  have  it  finished  by  another  intelligence  than  that 
under  whose  guidance  it  had  been  so  ill-begun. 

And  it  is  by  this  that  the  potential  artistic  stature  of 
Linda  Lee  is  to  be  reckoned,  that  in  this  the  young  be- 
ginning of  her  career  she  had  already  learned,  what  many 


276  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

who  walk  with  the  great  ones  of  the  screen  have  never 
learned  and  are  incapable  of  learning,  to  think  of  her  work 
before  herself,  to  esteem  her  role  as  something  less  than 
the  story  which  gave  it  excuse  for  being,  to  hold  the  wel- 
fare of  the  picture  as  a  picture  more  important  than  her 
own. 

While  still  she  faltered,  fearing  to  speak  her  mind, 
Coakley  came  up  with  the  others.  To  him  she  turned  re- 
proachfully. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Coakley !  why  did  you  do  this  ?" 

Before  Coakley  could  reply  Nolan  cut  in  irritably :  "Do 
what  ?  What's  the  matter  now  ?" 

"I'm  asking  Mr.  Coakley  why  he  didn't  carry  out  the 
design  we  agreed  on  for  the  supper  club." 

Coakley  grinned  and  scratched  an  ear.  "Mr.  Nolan's 
ideas,  Miss  Lee,"  he  drawled  uncomfortably. 

"Mr.  Nolan  ordered  this  change  ?" 

Nolan  brusquely  interposed :  "Of  course,  I  did.  What's 
wrong  with  the  set  ?" 

"And  you  didn't  consult  me,  Mr.  Coakley?" 

"I  supposed  you  knew,  Miss  Lee." 

"Say,  listen  here !"  Nolan  snapped — "what's  the  grand 
idea?  I  said  I  was  responsible  for  this  set,  didn't  I?  I 
gave  Coakley's  lay-out  the  once-over,  saw  it  wouldn't  do, 
and  told  him  what  I  wanted.  And  why  wouldn't  I? 
Look't  what  we  got.  Not  much  like  that  glorified  tea- 
room you  were  satisfied  with,  is  it?" 

"No,  Mr.  Nolan — not  much.    I  grant  you  that." 

"Well,  then,  what's  the  big  objection?" 

"Simply  that  the  set  is  out  of  harmony  with  the  rest  o£ 
the  picture " 

"Out  of  harmony!  Why,  it's  going  to  make  the  pic- 
ture !  You  ask  Harry  Iturbide  here.  He'll  tell  you,  when 
that  set's  flashed  on  the  screen  it's  going  to  knock  your 
eye  out." 

"I'm  sure  he  will,"  Lucinda  agreed,  smiling  at  the 
cameraman. 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  277 

"Well,  Harry?"  Nolan  insisted — "what  about  it? 
Who's  got  the  rights  of  this  argument?" 

"Miss  Lee,"  the  cameraman  said,  sententious. 

"Miss  Lee  has!    Say:    how  do  you  make  that  out?" 

"You  don't  want  to  make  your  background  too  prom- 
inent, Mr.  Nolan,"  Iturbide  explained  patiently.  "This 
set  is  going  to  stick  out  in  front  of  the  actors.  You  won't 
be  able  to  see  what  they're  doing  against  a  checker-board 
like  that." 

"Ah,  you  give  me  a  pain!"  Nolan  retorted  crushingly. 
"That  background's  all  right — going  to  photograph  like 
a  million  dollars,  I  tell  you." 

"But,  Mr.  Nolan,"  Lucinda  resumed  with  more  confi- 
dence :  "don't  you  see  that  the  set  is  completely  out  of  key 
with  the  atmosphere  of  the  story?  It  isn't  in  the  least  like 
the  supper  club  the  author  described." 

"Bet  your  sweet  life  it  isn't !  Look  here :  I  read  that 
story,  and  I  know  all  about  it,  and  I  can  show  you  where 
the  author  was  all  wrong  with  his  idea  of  the  kind  of  a 
joint  Nelly  was  running " 

"It  wasn't  what  you  call  a  'joint/  to  begin  with,  Mr. 
Nolan." 

"That's  just  the  very  point  I'm  trying  to  make.  If  it 
isn't  a  joint  you're  dancing  in,  where's  Richards  get  off 
with  his  kicking  about  you  not  being  good  enough  to 
marry  his  son  ?  It's  got  to  be  a  joint,  or  there  won't  be  any 
sense  in  the  way  he  fusses  when  he  finds  out  you  and  Dick 
are  stepping  out  together.  If  that  place  in  the  book  wasn't 
a  joint,  I'm  a  kike !"  Nolan  paused  in  triumph  to  let  his 
argument  sink  in.  "Now" — he  brandished  a  hand  at  the 
set — "this  is  a  joint,  and  a  regular  one,  if  you  want  to 
know.  Some  class  to  this.  I  doped  it  all  out  myself. 
Take  those  tablecloths,  now:  that's  the  identical  kind 
they  were  using  in  Montmartre  last  time  I  was  in  New 
York.  And  those  panels  on  the  walls — I  got  the  idea  for 
them  from  Reisemveber's  Paradise  Room,  only  these  are 
sportier.  And  that  black  woodwork  and  all  ... 


£78  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

Why,  we've  taken  the  best  points  of  all  the  classiest  joints 
in  New  York  and  lumped  them  into  one  set,  and  improved 
on  them  at  that.  Now  when  this  poor  fish  of  a  Richards 
sees  his  son  dancing  with  you  in  a  joint  like  this,  he'll  have 
some  excuse  for  claiming  you  ain't  all  you  might  be." 

"The  trouble  is,"  Lucinda  replied  gravely — "I  mean, 
from  your  viewpoint  the  trouble  will  be — Richards  will 
never  see  Dick  dancing  with  me  in  this  set." 

"What's  the  reason  he  won't?" 

Lucinda  smiled  slightly,  shook  her  head  slightly,  slightly 
shrugged.  In  the  course  of  Nolan's  harangue  it  had  been 
revealed  to  her  that  no  greater  calamity  could  possibly 
be  visited  upon  the  picture  than  to  permit  its  essential 
colour  of  good  taste  to  be  vitiated  by  the  introduction  of 
this  purely  atrocious  set.  It  would  be  like  asking  the  pub- 
lic to  believe  that  people  accustomed  to  sup  and  dance  in 
the  Crystal  Room  at  the  Ritz  had  transferred  their  favour 
to  the  roughest  cabaret  in  the  purlieus  of  Longacre 
Square. 

"What's  the  reason  he  won't?"  Nolan  repeated,  raising 
his  voice  angrily. 

"Because  I  won't  work  on  this  set,  Mr.  Nolan — until  it 
is  restored  to  the  design  I  approved." 

"But — my  Gawd! — you  can't  do  that,  Miss  Lee — you 
can't  hold  up  this  production  like  that.  Why,  it'll  take 
weeks " 

"How  long  will  it  take,  please,  Mr.  Coakley?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know,  Miss  Lee — I  might  be  able  to 
rush  it  through  for  you  in  a  week  or  ten  days." 

"There !"  Nolan  obtruded  an  excited  smirk  and  weav- 
ing hands  between  Lucinda  and  the  technical  director. 
"You  hear  what  Coakley  says.  Ten  days !  You  can't 
hold  up  this  production  ten  days,  Miss  Lee." 

"I  can,"  Lucinda  corrected  coldly,  "and  will,  no  matter 
how  long  it  takes  to  make  this  set  resemble  a  place  self- 
respecting  people  would  patronize." 

"But —  listen  here ! — you  can't  go  to  work  and  upset  all 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  279 

my  plans  at  the  last  moment,  like  this.  Company  called 
for  half-past  eight — fifty  extra  people  hired  for  four  days' 
work — orchestra  from  the  Alexandria  and  all — the  best 
caterer  in  Los  Angeles  engaged  to  serve  the  eats — !  You 
can't  throw  me  down  like  this " 

"I'm  sorry,  Mr.  Nolan.  You  should  have  consulted  me 
before  ordering  such  changes  on  your  own  responsibil- 
ity  " 

"Look  here :  am  I  directing  this  picture,  or  ain't  I  ?" 

"I'll  answer  that  question  when  you  answer  mine :  Am 
I  paying  for  this  production  or  are  you?  And  if  I  am, 
are  you  the  only  one  whose  wishes  are  to  be  considered  ?" 

"Listen,  now,  Miss  Lee."  Nolan  made  a  frantic  effort 
to  be  calm  and  urbane.  He  swallowed  hard.  "Listen :  I 
don't  want  to  have  any  trouble  with  you,  but  you're  mak- 
ing it  all-fired  hard  for  me.  I've  been  in  this  business 
ever  since  there  was  a  studio  in  Hollywood,  I've  directed 
hundreds  of  productions,  hundreds  of  'em,  I  ought  to 
know  my  business " 

"It  was  on  that  assumption  precisely  that  you  were 
hired,"  Lucinda  reminded  him  sweetly. 

"But  ever  since  I  been  working  with  you,  I've  felt — 
you've  made  me  feel — damn  it !  you've  been  watching  me 
and  thinking  sarcastic  things  about  the  way  I  do " 

"Did  you  never  before  suspect  you  were  psychic,  Mr. 
Nolan?" 

"And  now  you  openly  criticize  my  judgment  about  this 
set  and  say  you  won't  work  on  it " 

"You  understand  me  exactly,"  Lucinda  assented. 

"You  mean  that  ?" 

She  nodded. 

"Well,  that— settles— it !"  Nolan  flung  both  hands 
above  his  head  and  waggled  them  insanely.  "That  settles 
it !  I'm  through — I'm  finished — done !  I'm  out !  I  quit !" 

He  hesitated  a  single  instant,  searching  Lucinda's  face 
to  see  it  blench  at  this  awful  threat;  and  in  disappoint- 
ment whirled  on  a  heel  and  barged  out  of  the  set  so  blindly 


280  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

that  he  blundered  into  one  of  the  frames  and  knocked 
it  flat. 

Luanda  nodded  quietly  to  the  technical  man. 

"Please  make  the  changes  as  soon  as  you  can,  Mr. 
Coakley.  It's  all  right :  don't  apologize  any  more.  I  quite 
understand  it  wasn't  your  fault." 

The  president  of  Linda  Lee  Inc.  wasn't  in  his  office, 
neither  was  his  car  in  the  parking  yard ;  but  Nolan  evi- 
dently knew  where  to  find  him,  for  Lucinda  had  not  been 
twenty  minutes  in  her  rooms  at  the  Hollywood  when  Lon- 
taine's  knuckles  rattled  on  the  door.  His  agitation,  when 
she  admitted  him,  was  intense,  almost  pitiable.  One  gath- 
ered that  he  considered  a  tiff  between  star  and  director  a 
catastrophe  second  only  to  national  censorship  of  pictures. 
He  stammered  painfully  over  his  account  of  Nolan's  ulti- 
matum, which  had  been  accompanied  by  a  demand  for  the 
balance  of  his  pay  in  full  and  at  once. 

"I  presume  you  haven't  heard  from  your  lawyer  yet, 
Linda  ..." 

"He  hasn't  had  time  to  get  my  letter." 

"I  don't  suppose — you  couldn't  wire  him  now?  It 
would  give  us  a  frightful  black  eye  if  Nolan  were  able  to 
say  we  couldn't  pay  him." 

"But  he's  had  twelve  thousand  or  so  already.  Why 
should  he  get  the  balance  of  his  fee  if  he  refuses  to 
earn  it?" 

"But  he  claims  you  as  good  as  fired  him " 

"No  doubt  he  would."  Lucinda  corrected  to  the  last 
letter  that  misstatement  of  fact.  .  .  .  "So  you  see, 
the  truth  is,  Mr.  Nolan  fired  himself  in  a  pet  because  I 
refused  to  let  him  ruin  the  supper  club  sequences.  Now 
if  he  wants  the  rest  of  his  twenty-five  thousand,  he'll  have 
to  hire  himself  on  again." 

And  eventually  despairing  of  a  change  of  heart  in  Lu- 
cinda, Lontaine  took  himself  off  to  test  his  powers  of 
moral  or  other  suasion  on  Nolan ;  and  at  intervals  during; 
the  evening  called  up  to  report  progress,  or  rather  that 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  281 

absence  of  progress  which  rewarded  his  best  endeavours. 
Hope  died  hard  in  him,  however;  and  some  time  after 
midnight  the  telephone  routed  Lucinda  out  of  her  bed  to 
receive  a  somewhat  disconnected  communique  to  the  effect 
that  Lontaine's  cunning  as  a  diplomat  had  at  length 
wrung  from  Nolan  a  promise  to  return  to  work  the  next 
day. 

Strains  of  jazz  which  filtered  over  the  wire,  a  singing 
background  for  the  muzzy  accents  which  retailed  this 
glorious  news,  led  Lucinda  to  infer  that  Lontaine  was 
calling  from  Santa  Monica,  and  to 'suspect  that  Nolan's 
capitulation  had  been  to  some  extent  at  least  due  to  the 
humanizing,  at  times,  influences  of  the  stuff  the  genial 
bootlegger  vends ;  but  perhaps  no  more  than  to  the  intox- 
icating kindness  of  Fanny's  eyes  .  .  . 

To  her  taste  the  Affair  of  the  Comedy  Feet  was  some- 
thing more  farcical,  though  Nolan  did  take  it  in  a  de- 
pressing spirit  of  deadly  seriousness. 

In  fact,  one  of  the  heaviest  handicaps  under  which  this 
young  man  laboured  in  his  progress  through  life  was  a 
tendency  to  take  frivolous  matters,  including  himself,  a 
shade  over-seriously ;  a  fault  he  shared  with  so  many  of 
his  fellows  of  the  studios  that  Zinn  one  day  was  moved 
to  comment  on  its  cause,  not  without  psychological  insight. 

"One  of  the  big  troubles  with  the  fillum  business,"  he 
observed  sagely,  "is  the  way  it's  made  a  lot  of  people  rich 
what  wasn't  never  meant  to  be  that  way.  And  take  it 
from  me,  pictures  ain't  never  going  to  be  right,  really, 
until  most  of  that  bunch  gets  out  of  the  business  or  gets 
over  their  surprise. 

"Independence,"  he  mused,  "is  one  of  the  dangerousest 
weapons  a  person  can  put  in  the  hands  of  an  ignorant 

guy." 

Next  to  himself  and  his  amours,  the  thing  Barry 
Nolan  took  most  seriously  was  Comedy,  so  much  so  that 
he  clothed  the  word  with  the  capital  even  in  his  private 
meditations,  and  devoted  a  good  part  of  his  professional 


282  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

life  to  perspiring  efforts  to  interject  Comedy  into  the 
pictures  he  directed,  especially  those  in  whose  composition 
Comedy,  as  he  conceived  it,  had  no  business  to  find  place. 

Thus  with  the  picture  upon  which  his  genius  was  at 
present  engaged.  Over  the  unfolding  of  its  story  the 
Comic  Spirit  did  indeed  preside,  but  manifested  only  in 
the  rustle  of  its  satiric  wings,  in  a  whisper  of  wit  ever 
and  anon  animating  the  speech  of  its  creatures;  never 
in  the  head-on  collision  of  two  actors  trying  to  pass 
through  one  doorway  in  opposite  directions,  never  in  the 
capers  of  a  cross-eyed  comedian  dogged  to  his  undoing 
by  a  pack  of  wild  pies.  So  that  Nolan  felt  it  devolved 
upon  him  to  save  the  picture  by  distorting  situations 
integral  in  its  plot  and  by  devising  others  for  interpola- 
tion, to  the  end  that  Comedy,  the  Comedy  of  the  cinema, 
of  physical  mishaps  and  deformities,  might  mow  and  bow 
upon  the  screen  its  bid  for  guffaws. 

If  the  results  he  gained  were  often  lamentable,  Lucinda 
ceased  to  offer  comment  when  her  first  diffident  strictures 
had  been  ungraciously  overruled.  It  would  be/  time 
enough  to  fight  for  a  decision,  she  reflected,  when  the  pic- 
ture was  ultimately  cut  to  length  and  assembled ;  in  which 
process  much  of  this  deplorable  stuff  would  be  sure  to  go 
by  the  board,  for  very  lack  of  space. 

Piqued  to  find  her  so  unresponsive,  Nolan  issued  secret 
orders  that  his  most  ambitious  comic  flights  were  not  to 
be  shown  Lucinda  with  the  other  rushes,  and  confined 
further  efforts  in  the  vein  to  scenes  in  which  she  took 
no  part. 

And  it  was  thus  that  the  Comedy  Feet  crept  up  on  her 
unawares. 

Some  time  subsequent  to  the  Battle  of  the  Supper 
Club  Set,  when  his  equanimity  seemed  to  have  been  com- 
pletely restored,  Nolan  acquainted  Lucinda  with  the  de- 
tails of  an  utterly  unique  method  of  screen  introduction 
which  he  had  invented,  all  out  of  his  own  head,  with  a 
view  to  lending  distinction  to  her  debut. 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  283 

By  this  device  the  public  was  first  to  make  her  acquaint- 
ance through  the  medium  of  a  close-up  framing  two  pair 
of  dancing  feet,  Nelly's  (that  is  to  say,  Lucinda's)  and  her 
professional  partner's.  Then,  as  these  rested,  the  part- 
ner's feet  were  to  be  eliminated,  and  the  close-up,  after 
lingering  one  fond,  reluctant  moment  on  Lucinda's  ankles, 
was  to  travel  up  her  person  until  it  hovered  upon  her 
head  and  shoulders. 

If  not  strikingly  novel,  the  business  seemed  simple  and 
innocuous  enough  to  Lucinda,  and  she  posed  for  it  accord- 
ing to  instructions  and  without  misgiving. 

But  when,  the  next  day,  she  sat  with  Nolan  in  the  pro- 
jection-room, reviewing  the  rushes,  this  is  what  the  screen 
revealed  to  her  astounded  eyes: 

She  saw  first  a  stripling  fashionable,  an  admirer  of  hers 
in  the  story,  stroll  down  a  section  of  sidewalk  in  the  Los 
Angeles  shopping  district  (which  Nolan  asserted  was 
"Fifth  Avenue  to  a  T")  enter  a  florist's  shop,  select  roses, 
and  scribble  a  card  to  accompany  them,  while  the  florist 
summoned  an  errand  boy,  a  repulsive  white  slug  of  a 
child,  eight  or  nine  years  of  age,  heavy  with  unwholesome 
fat  and  wearing  an  habitual  look  of  hopeless  vacuity, 
whom  Lucinda  had  several  times  noticed,  not  without 
wonder,  as  he  loitered  drearily  about  the  stage. 

As  she  now  saw  him,  the  boy  had  been  heartlessly  shoe- 
horned  into  the  brass-bound  livery  of  a  page,  and  wore 
upon  his  feet  a  brace  of  leathern  wrecks  which  even  the 
broad  charity  of  a  Charlie  Chaplin  would  have  hesitated 
to  call  shoes. 

Waiting  for  the  card  to  be  written,  this  bleached 
sausage  of  a  child  restlessly  shuffled  his  tragic  feet,  and 
again  and  again  wiped  them  on  each  other.  To  make  sure 
that  nothing  of  the  fine  Comedy  of  the  business  would  be 
overlooked,  the  feet  were  isolated  in  an  heroic  close-up. 

She  saw  the  boy  take  the  box  of  roses  and  leave  the 
shop  to  deliver  them.  As  he  emerged  to  the  street  the 
fiendish  camera  pounced  upon  his  feet  and  again  held 


284,  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

them  up  to  derision  in  a  close-up  wherein  they  resembled 
more  than  anything  else  abnormal  vegetable  growths  un- 
cannily animate.  Nor  was  this  enough.  With  the  savage 
elemental  humour  of  a  Yahoo  the  camera  hounded  those 
fungoid  feet  as  they  clumped  and  dragged  and  faltered 
along  the  sidewalk,  their  monstrosity  painfully  stressed 
by  contrast  with  the  trim  legs  and  dainty  feet  of  feminine 
passers-by,  the  decently  shod  feet  of  men. 

When  unstinted  quantities  of  film  had  been  squandered 
in  this  delectable  pursuit,  the  Comedy  Feet  were  shown 
performing  a  side-splitting  stumble  over  the  threshold  to 
the  supper  club  establishment. 

The  close-up  of  Lucinda's  feet  with  her  dancing  part- 
ner's was  then  disclosed;  and  the  camera  shifted  its  inti- 
mate attentions  to  another  pair  of  feet  disgracefully  clad, 
which  were  discovered  in  the  act  of  pressing  the  pedals 
of  a  piano  and  appeared  to  belong  to  a  low  comedy  stage 
mother  whom  Nolan  had  foisted  upon  Lucinda  in  his  ver- 
sion of  the  continuity.  These  last  the  camera  followed  as 
they  left  the  piano  and  shuffled  across  the  floor  to  meet  the 
feet  of  the  errand-boy,  then  as  they  crossed  to  halt  near 
the  feet  of  Lucinda. 

Followed  the  ascent  of  the  close-up  to  frame  on  Lu- 
cinda's face  as  she  smiled  down  at  her  armful  of  roses. 

The  film  ran  out  then,  darkness  fell,  the  ceiling  light 
came  on,  and  Nolan,  who  had  the  chair  immediately  in 
front  of  Lucinda's,  twisted  round  with  a  bright,  expectant 
grin  to  study  her  face  for  the  glow  of  glad  appreciation 
which  he  felt  his  ingenuity  had  earned. 

She  managed  a  wan  little  smile  for  him,  but  her  eyes 
held  still  a  look  of  bewilderment  too  deep  to  be  readily 
erased,  too  despairing  to  be  misread.  Nolan  flushed,  but 
wasn't  ready  to  admit  defeat. 

"I'll  tell  the  world,"  he  declared  defiantly,  "the  screen 
never  seen  an  introduction  like  that  before !" 

Anxious  to  avoid  a  repetition  of  their  former  squabble^ 
Lucinda  sought  vainly  for  some  equivocal  phrase  that 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  285 

would  content  the  man's  stupendous  vanity.  But,  incon- 
ceivably inane  as  it  sounds,  the  business  of  the  Comedy 
Feet  has  been  here  set  forth  without  the  faintest  colour 
of  exaggeration ;  and  her  wits  were  numb  from  the  impact 
of  its  wanton  stupidity. 

"Well!"  Nolan  sneered  in  an  effort  to  reassert  his 
authority — "I  can  see  it  didn't  make  a  whale  of  a  hit  with 
you,  Miss  Lee,  but  believe  me,  the  audiences  will  eat  that 
stuff  up,  simply  eat  it  up  !" 

"Don't  you  think,"  Lucinda  ventured — "perhaps  it's  a 
little  long,  Mr.  Nolan?" 

"Oh,  maybe  a  little  trimming  here  and  there  won't  do 
any  harm.  But  it  can't  come  down  a  whole  lot  without 
hurting  the  Comedy  effect." 

"But — I  don't  like  to  seem  hypercritical — but  that's 
what's  troubling  me.  You  see,  it  doesn't  seem  terribly 
amusing  to  me." 

Nolan's  eyes  snapped,  but  as  yet  he  had  his  temper 
under  fair  control. 

"I'd  like  to  know  why  not,"  he  replied  with  more  civil- 
ity than  the  bare  words  as  quoted  can  convey. 

"If  you'll  be  patient  with  me,  I'll  try  to  explain.  It 
seems  to  me  In  a  story  of  this  sort,  about  real  people 
struggling  with  real  emotions,  whatever  comedy  is  intro- 
duced ought  to  be  in  character  or  consistent  with  the  gen- 
eral tone  of  the  picture." 

"Well?"  Nolan  drawled  wearily. 

"Well — assuming  there's  really  something  funny  about 
that  child's  pitiful  feet — it's  utterly  at  odds  with  probabil- 
ity to  place  him,  dressed  as  he  is,  in  the  shop  of  a  Fifth 
avenue  florist.  No  such  establishment  would  dream  of 
employing  such  a  caricature  of  an  errand  boy  .  .  . 
Don't  you  see?" 

"No,"  Nolan  replied  with  an  offensive  echo  of  her  in- 
flection— "no,  I  don't  see.  It's  Comedy,  audiences  are  al- 
ways howling  for  Comedy,  and  if  anything  on  God's  green 


286  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

earth  can  save  this  rotten  picture  it'll  be  the  Comedy  I'm 
sticking  into  it." 

"Then  I'm  afraid  it's  hopeless." 

"But  I'll  tell  you  what  I  do  see."  Nolan  leaned  over 
the  back  of  his  chair  and  grinned  mirthlessly  into  Lu- 
cinda's  face.  "I  see  what  I've  seen  all  along,  and  that 
is  there's  no  pleasing  you,  Miss  Lee !  Ever  since  I  started 
on  this  picture  you've  had  the  old  harpoon  out  for  every- 
thing I  did,  and  this,  what  you're  saying  today  about  this 
introduction  I  invented  for  you,  is  all  of  a  piece  with  the 
way  you've  been  acting  all  along." 

"But,  please,  Mr.  Nolan!" — Lucinda  was  trying  her 
best  to  be  temperate — "surely  this  isn't  a  reasonable  atti- 
tude to  take,  surely  you  can  make  allowances  for  honest 
difference  of  opinion." 

"Ah,  it  ain't  your  fault !"  Nolan  jerked  angrily  out  of 
his  chair  and  turned  to  the  door,  but  delayed  long  enough 
to  deliver  a  valedictory :  "And  I'm  a  sap  to  let  anybody 
that  knows  as  little  about  pictures  get  my  goat  like  you  do. 
Have  it  your  own  way — chuck  the  whole  sequence  out, 
if  you  don't  like  this  introduction  I  framed  special  for  you. 
It's  your  picture,  I  should  worry  what  the  piece  of  junk 
looks  like  when  you're  through  with  it.  But  I  tell  you  one 
thing:  If  that  introduction  don't  stand,  my  name  can't  go 
on  the  picture  as  its  director.  And  that's  flat,  my  lady !" 

And  before  Lucinda  could  take  advantage  of  this  wide 
invitation  to  a  withering  retort,  the  door  slammed  on 
Nolan's  impassioned  exit. 


XXXV 

HE  day  of  the  Last  Stand  in  the  Living-Room  Door- 
JL  way  began  auspiciously  enough  with  receipt  of  a 
night-letter  from  Harford  Willis  stating  that  money  mat- 
ters had  been  arranged  in  conformance  with  Lucinda's 
wishes,  and  adding  that  Willis  hoped  before  long  to  give 
himself  the  pleasure  of  calling  on  her  in  person ;  the  busi- 
ness of  another  client  was  requiring  his  supervision  in 
San  Francisco,  on  the  way  out  he  could  readily  stop  over 
in  Los  Angeles  for  a  day  or  two,  he  was  leaving  New 
York  the  day  he  telegraphed. 

Not  a  little  to  her  own  wonder,  Lucinda  found  herself 
pleasantly  excited  by  the  thought  that  she  was  to  see 
this  old  friend  so  soon  again.  Had  his  telegram  come  a 
week  or  so  earlier,  she  must  have  been  quite  as  much 
annoyed,  have  deemed  its  implicit  promise  of  meddling  in 
her  affairs  an  inexcusable  impertinence.  But  a  week  or 
so  ago,  at  least  up  to  the  time  of  Bellamy's  reappearance, 
she  had  been  comparatively  serene,  smug  with  self-con- 
tentment because  of  the  semblance  of  success  which  had 
thus  far  attended  the  rather  off-hand  measures  she  had 
adopted  in  dealing  with  the  larger  issues  of  her  life.  Now, 
however,  she  knew  no  more  peace  of  mind,  in  the  last 
fortnight  the  pressure  of  perplexities  had  grown  so  heavy 
that  she  found  herself  eagerly  looking  forward  to  the 
arrival  of  one  in  whom  she  could  confide,  of  whom  she 
could  ask  counsel,  without  fearing  to  hear  self-interest 
sound  in  his  responses. 

Harford  Willis  might  disapprove  the  roads  she  chose 
to  go,  but  so  long  as  she  kept  within  certain  bounds,  which 
she    herself    would    never    dream    of    overstepping,    he 
287 


288  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

wouldn't  censure;  and  if  she  found  the  going  rough  in  the 
ways  of  wil fulness,  his  sympathy  would  none  the  less  be 
constant,  he'd  never  say,  "I  told  you  so ;"  and  never  would 
he  be  guilty  of  advising  any  course  of  action  to  the  end 
that  he  himself  might  profit.  Take  him  for  what  he  was, 
there  was  nobody  like  him,  nobody  else  whom  she  could 
so  trust  .  .  .  not  even  Lynn  .  .  . 

Not  even  Lynn !  A  bitter  thought  to  have  to  think,  but 
a  true,  and  one  it  were  not  the  part  of  wisdom  to  ignore, 
that  she  couldn't  look  to  the  man  she  loved  with  all  her 
heart,  and  who  loved  her  well  in  his  way,  she  knew, 
for  sympathy  in  her  trials  and  for  unselfish  advice,  as  she 
could  to  another  in  whose  consideration  she  was  merely  a 
pretty,  headstrong  girl  whom  he  had  known  since  she  was 
little,  the  daughter  of  an  old  friend. 

For  the  truth  was  (idle  to  deny  it  longer  or  hope  against 
hope  that  one  might  be  mistaken)  Lynn  was  changed,  had 
ceased  to  be  the  light-hearted  and  irresponsible  but  tender 
lover  of  the  days  before  Bellamy  had  come  back  to  play 
skeleton  at  their  feast,  of  late  had  grown  irritable  in  a 
fashion  new  to  Lucinda's  knowledge  of  him,  somewhat 
sulky  and  suspicious  of  temper,  impatient  of  Lucinda's 
troubles  when  she  wanted  condolence  and  soothing,  and 
over-ready  to  remind  her  he  had  troubles  of  his  own. 

She  wasn't  disposed  to  quarrel  with  him  on  that  ac- 
count, she  was  too  fair-minded  to  deny  him  his  griev- 
ances or  the  right  to  nurse  them.  Surely  the  situation  in 
which  Lynn  now  newly  found  himself  was  one  to  play  the 
deuce  with  the  sunniest  of  dispositions — to  be  an  accepted 
lover  and  have  a  husband  continually  if  with  pretended 
playfulness  snapping  at  one's  heels,  or  else  circling  watch- 
fully in  the  not  too  remote  distance  and  showing  his  teeth, 
every  time  one  looked  his  way,  in  a  grin  as  malicious  as  it 
was  brilliant. 

Then  there  was  that  trouble  with  Lynn's  foot,  something 
that  had  turned  out,  rather  to  Lucinda's  astonishment, 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  289 

to  be  a  real  injury,  no  make-believe  feigned  for  an  occa- 
sion. At  the  studio  second-hand  accounts  came  to  her,  of 
how  Summerlad's  foot  had  slipped,  while  he  was  doing 
"river  stuff,"  and  had  been  severely  pinched  between  two 
logs.  It  hadn't  seemed  much  of  a  hurt  at  the  time,  and 
Summerlad  had  made  light  of  it,  just  as  today  he  made 
light  of  it ;  but  it  had  been  slow  to  mend,  and  even  now, 
though  he  usually  managed  to  get  through  his  work  for 
the  camera  without  registering  the  injury,  there  were  days 
when  he  walked  with  a  noticeable  limp,  when  inability  to 
get  about  with  comfort  interfered  seriously  with  the 
amusements  he  had  been  accustomed  to  share  with 
Lucinda. 

So  she  wasn't  seeing  so  much  of  him  as  aforetime,  and 
when  she  did,  what  with  natural  preoccupation  in  their 
respective  afflictions,  to  say  nothing  of  the  greater  annoy- 
ance that  afflicted  them  in  common,  the  old  unconstraint 
was  grievously  missed. 

But  nothing  in  this  life  lasts  (Lucinda  insisted  on  iterat- 
ing, in  a  temper  doggedly  philosophic)  and  even  as  that 
earlier  time  of  ecstasies  had  passed,  this  time  of  trial 
would  pass,  the  day  would  come  when,  her  picture  fin- 
ished, she  would  be  free  to  leave  the  studio  and  forget 
Bellamy's  existence,  go  on  to  Reno  and  get  her  freedom, 
when  Lynn  would  be  hers  alone  and  they  two  could  look 
back  at  this  time  and  laugh  to  think  how  it  had  galled 
them. 

Busy  with  such  reflections,  and  with  the  pleasing  pros- 
pect of  soon  having  a  willing  audience  for  her  complaints, 
Lucinda  made  nothing  of  the  fact  that  Lontaine  showed 
the  whites  of  his  eyes  and  shied  back  like  a  skittish  cob 
from  the  telegram  which  she  submitted  to  his  inspection, 
and  was  even  not  much  tranquillized  by  the  cheque  which, 
at  the  same  time,  she  gave  him  for  the  replenishment  of 
the  company's  coffers.  And  in  her  most  amiable  temper 
she  hurried  from  his  office  to  her  dressing-room,  into  the 
newest,  prettiest  and  most  becoming  dance  frock  she  had 


290  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

ever  owned,  who  had  owned  so  many,  and  then  out  to 
the  stage. 

The  company  was  waiting,  the  cameras  were  waiting, 
Nolan  with  an  air  of  noblest  patience  was  waiting.  All  of 
which  was  quite  needless,  for  there  was  other  work  in 
abundance  that  could  have  been  attended  to,  there  were 
scenes  in  the  same  sequence  in  which  she  didn't  appear  and 
which  might  easily  have  been  rehearsed  if  not  photo- 
graphed even  though  Lucinda  was  a  bit  tardy.  But  that 
wouldn't  have  suited  Nolan's  little  book :  having  told  Lu- 
cinda when  he  would  want  her  at  a  fixed  hour,  he  was 
determined  that  nothing  should  go  forward  till  she  showed 
up.  That  wasn't  the  Nolan  method  in  dealing  with 
women,  to  let  them  play  fast  and  loose  with  his  man- 
dates and  pretend  it  didn't  matter.  Was  he  not  Barry 
Nolan,  well-known  for  his  success  in  taming  tempera- 
mental actresses?  A  reputation  honestly  earned  and  of 
which  he  proposed  that  Lucinda  should  now  be  reminded 
in  no  uncertain  accents.  And  if  one  had  ventured  to  ques- 
tion his  policy,  he  would  have  pointed  out  that  company 
morale  was  bound  to  suffer  if  the  director  neglected  to 
"go  to  the  mat  with"  his  star  every  so  often.  The  success 
of  every  human  undertaking  depended  on  undisputed 
authority  vesting  in  one  and  only  one  directing  head — in 
moving-pictures,  the  director's.  A  lesson  every  star 
needed  to  be  taught  upon  occasion.  You  had  to  keep  ham- 
mering it  into  the  poor  dumb-bells,«or  they  got  the  swelled 
head — and  then  where  were  you  ? 

In  point  of  sober  fact,  Nolan  was  enjoying  himself  tre- 
mendously, though  to  have  admitted  as  much,  even  to  his 
private  conscience,  would  have  spoiled  the  fun  entirely. 
He  couldn't  possibly  have  been  having  such  a  good  time 
if  he  hadn't  been  in  such  a  vile  temper. 

Up  to  the  moment  of  Lucinda's  appearance,  he  had  been 
whiling  away  the  Wait  by  delivering  a  monologue  of 
spontaneous  generation,  a  discourse  having  for  its  subject 
the  habits  of  stars  in  general  and  of  self-made  feminine 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  291 

stars  in  especial,  studiously  impersonal  in  phrasing  but 
mordant  of  wit,  and  delivered  with  an  air  of  gentle  and 
melancholy  detachment  which  took  no  perceptible  account 
of  the  snickerings  of  his  henchmen  and  the  ill-hidden 
smiles  of  actors  who,  in  the  absence  of  Lucinda,  were- 
hazarding  no  guesses  as  to  which  side  their  bread  was 
buttered  on. 

As  Lucinda  drew  near,  Nolan  hoisted  himself  out  of  the 
basket-chair  in  which  he  had  been  lounging,  with  some- 
thing more  than  a  suggestion  of  limbs  cramped  by  pro- 
longed inactivity,  and  bowed  politely,  too  politely. 

But  Lucinda  was  feeling  much  too  kindly  minded  to- 
ward all  the  world,  that  morning,  to  resent  his  nonsense, 
though  by  no  means  unaware  of  its  cause  and  aim.  And 
with  every  intention  of  keeping  the  peace  she  returned  a 
brief  but  good-natured  nod  and  smile. 

"Sorry  if  I've  kept  you  waiting,  Mr.  Nolan,  but  I  had 
some  business  with  Mr.  Lontaine  we  couldn't  put  off." 

"No  matter  at  all,  Miss  Lee,  I  assure  you — no  matter 
a-tall !  My  time  is  yours,  the  company's  time  is  yours,  all 
the  time  there  is  is  yours,  to  use  or  waste,  just  as  you 
think  best." 

Lucinda  couldn't  very  well  let  offensiveness  so  pointed 
pass  without  comment.  She  stopped,  turned  squarely  to 
face  Nolan,  with  a  keen  smile,  looked  him  deliberately  up 
and  down,  a  movement  of  shoulders  summing  up  clearly 
enough  the  substance  of  her  impressions. 

"Thank  you  for  telling  me,"  she  said  sweetly.  "And 
now  that  is  understood,  suppose  we  try  to  make  up  for  the 
time  I've  wasted,  if  possible,  by  getting  to  work  at 
once  ..." 

The  only  retort  that  occurred  to  Nolan  as  at  all  appro- 
priate he  felt  instinctively  to  be  inadequate  in  point  of 
elegance;  so  he  judiciously  refrained  from  uttering  it. 
And  anyhow,  the  day  was  young  yet,  his  hour  would 
come. 

"Fair  enough,"  he  agreed  with  a  passable  display  of 


292  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

good  spirit.  "Le's  go  to  it,  then."  He  approached  the 
set  on  which  two  cameras  stood  trained  at  close  range, 
with  Klieg  lights  focussed.  "Now,  Miss  Lee,  I'll  just  line 
in  what  I  want  of  you  this  scene." 

The  set  was  a  simple  angle,  where  two  walls  met  in  an 
apartment  hallway,  with  a  door  that  opened  inward  from 
a  living-room  set  beyond.  In  this  last  the  big  dramatic 
moment  of  the  play  was  to  be  staged,  a  scene  involving 
Lucinda  and  her  two  leading-men,  the  heavy  father  and 
the  juvenile,  his  son,  both  of  whom  were  understood  to  be 
in  love  with  Nelly. 

Here,  in  his  bachelor  apartment,  Nelly  was  to  call  at 
midnight  on  the  father,  seeking  him  without  care  for 
appearances  in  an  hour  of  desperation,  to  beg  him  to 
intervene  with  the  villain  of  the  piece  and  save  her  way- 
ward brother  from  imprisonment  on  a  charge  of  theft. 

The  madly  infatuated  father  was  to  take  this  oppor- 
tunity to  propose  marriage,  and  Nelly  was  to  accept  him, 
momentarily  carried  off  her  feet  by  the  sincerity  of  his 
passion  as  much  as  by  the  glamour  of  his  wealth  and 
social  position. 

While  this  was  going  on,  Dick,  the  son,  passing  in  the 
street,  was  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  Nelly's  shadow  on  the 
window-shade  and,  wild  with  jealousy,  demand  admit- 
tance. The  father,  divining  his  son's  suspicions  and  de- 
siring to  allay  them,  furthermore  at  a  loss  for  a  fair  excuse 
for  refusing  to  see  the  boy,  was  to  conduct  Nelly  to  the 
private  hallway  and  leave  here  there  with  the  understand- 
ing that,  while  he  was  letting  Dick  in  at  the  front  door,  she 
was  to  slip  away  by  the  back. 

Instead  of  doing  so,  Nelly  was  to  linger  behind  the  door 
and  overhear  the  quarrel  between  father  and  son,  in  the 
course  of  which  it  was  to  transpire  that  the  former  had 
once  offered  to  wager  the  latter  that  he  could  make  the 
girl  his  mistress  within  a  given  period  of  time.  Where- 
upon, in  revulsion  of  feeling,  Nelly  was  to  confront  the 
two  and,  while  confessing  she  had  planned  deliberately  to 


LINDA   LEE    INC;  293 

marry  either  one  or  the  other  of  them  for  his  money, 
assert  herself  to  be  too  good  to  be  the  wife  of  either. 

It  is  illustrative  of  the  topsy-turvey  methods  of  cinema 
production  that  no  part  of  this  sequence  had  as  yet  been 
photographed  except  the  scenes  in  the  street  when  Dick, 
passing  on  the  way  home  to  his  own  bachelor  quarters, 
looked  up  and  espied  Lucinda's  shadow ;  and  that  Lucinda 
was  now  to  enact  the  scene  at  the  doorway  before  taking- 
part  in  the  living-room  scenes  which  in  the  photoplay 
would  precede  and  follow  it. 

The  angle  had  been  set  up  directly  adjoining  the  living- 
room  set,  in  order  that  the  door,  when  Nelly  opened  it  to 
denounce  father  and  son,  might  reveal  a  glimpse  of  that 
interior  with  the  two  men  standing  thunderstruck. 

Nolan  proceeded  now  to  act  out  in  his  own  person 
the  business  which  he  conceived  to  be  in  character  for  a 
girl  of  Nelly's  quality  in  circumstances  so  contrived  as 
to  make  voluntary  eavesdropping  on  her  part  seem  con- 
structively defensible.  And  Luciada  looked  on  with  earn- 
est attention  and  puckered  brows,  eager  to  catch  every 
hint  that  would  help  her  become  a  better  actress.  Her  dis- 
trust of  Nolan  extended  only  to  his  abilities  as  a  construc- 
tive builder  of  story-telling  pictures  and  a  judge  of  pic- 
torial values.  For  the  very  considerable  amount  of  raw 
power  as  a  pantomime  which  he  indubitably  possessed, 
she  had  much  respect.  Prior  to  invading  the  realm  of  mo- 
tion-pictures, Nolan  had  served  long  and  arduous  appren- 
ticeship as  a  general  utility  actor  in  stock  companies  of 
the  Middle  West  and  the  Pacific  Coast.  He  knew  every 
trick  of  gesture  and  expression  and  how  to  communicate 
the  secret  of  their  most  effective  use  in  the  delineation  of 
theatrical  as  distinguished  from  real  emotion.  In  this 
respect  his  greatest  fault  was  a  tendency  to  overdo  things, 
to  let  enthusiasm  for  acting  run  away  with  discrimina- 
tion. 

This  enthusiasm  was  running  away  with  him  now,  he 
was  building  the  solo  scene  which  Lucinda  was  to  play 


294  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

on  lines  of  broad  emotional  melodrama  widely  inconsist- 
ent with  the  situation.  Forgetting  that,  while  the  conver- 
sation assumed  to  be  going  on  beyond  the  door  was  one 
well  calculated  to  annoy  and  disgust  her  whom  it  con- 
cerned, its  revelations  were  after  all  hardly  of  a  char- 
acter to  break  her  heart,  who  was  in  love  with  neither 
of  the  speakers — indifferent  to  these  considerations,  Nolan 
was,  as  Nelly,  ranting  and  raving  in  the  angle  like  one 
gone  half-mad  with  shock  and  grief.  Yet  such  was  the 
fire  he  infused  into  the  performance  that  for  the  time 
being  he  truly  succeeded  in  perverting  Lucinda's  grasp  of 
the  scene,  and  won  her  admiration  in  spite  of  her  latent 
dislike.  So  that  when,  having  exhausted  his  repertoire  of 
emotional  artifice,  he  stepped  out  of  the  camera  lines,  con- 
sulting Lucinda  with  a  glance  and  the  stereotyped  enquiry, 
"See  what  I  want,  dear?"  she  replied  without  thinking — 
"You  mak  it  most  real.  I'll  do  my  best" — and  stepped 
into  character  and  the  set  as  the  lights  blazed  on,  the 
cameras  began  to  tick,  and  Nolan  seized  his  baton  of  au- 
thority, the  megaphone  which  he  invariably  used  while 
directing,  though  he  had  as  much  need  of  it  now  as  the 
cameras  had  of  telescopic  lenses. 

"Now,  dear,"  he  blared  through  this  instrument — "go 
to  it  and  show  us  all  you've  got.  Don't  be  afraid  of  let- 
ting yourself  go.  Remember,  this  is  your  Big  Scene, 
biggest  you've  got  in  this  story,  your  one  grand  little 
chance  to  put  it  over  that  you're  a  sure-enough  actress 

.  .  .  That's  it" — the  elderly  leading-man  ushered 
Lucinda  into  the  set  from  the  living-room  side,  laid  a 
finger  to  his  lips,  and  pointed  down  the  hallway  before  dis- 
appearing— "that's  it — nod  to  show  you  know  what  he 
means.  Now  you  start  for  the  back  door.  You  haven't 
thought  yet  it  would  be  a  swell  idea  to  stop  and  listen  to 
all  they're  saying  about  you.  But  now  you  do,  now  you 
hesitate,  turn,  look  back  at  the  door,  frowning.  Pretty 
work.  Now  go  back,  but  not  all  at  once.  Make  us  see  you 
don't  think  you  ought  to  do  this  sort  of  thing,  make  us  see 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  295 

the  big  struggle  with  your  better  nature,  and  better  nature 
losing  out.  Good.  Now  you  put  your  ear  to  the  crack 
in  the  door  and  hear  your  name.  Give  a  big  start  and  look 
horrified.  You  never  dreamed  men  could  talk  about 
women  like  that,  you  know,  you  wouldn't  have  believed 
Richards  and  Dick  could  talk  that  way  about  you.  Show 
us  horror,  dear,  and  make  it  strong,  you  can't  make  it  too 
strong.  Remember:  you're  just  realizing  the  man  you 
love  is  such  a  rotten  cad  he  could  make  a  bet  about  your 
virtue.  It  just  makes  you  feel  sick  all  over ! 

"Great  snakes!  what's  that  for?    What's  the  matter?" 

For  of  a  sudden  Lucinda  laughed  outright,  suddenly 
the  heartrending  tremolo  of  Nolan's  voice  as  he  detailed 
the  awful  offense  Richards  had  committed  against  Nelly 
in  the  play  tickled  irresistibly  her  sense  of  the  absurd ; 
and  her  laugh  followed  naturally,  inevitably,  uncontroll- 
ably. 

Now  as  Nolan  with  a  frantic  wave  bade  the  cameraman 
cease  cranking,  she  made  a  sign  of  helpless  appeal  and, 
inarticulate  with  mirth,  rested  weakly  against  the  door  and 
held  her  sides. 

"I'm  sorry,  Mr.  Nolan,"  she  gasped.  "Forgive  me,  I — 
I  didn't  know  I  was  going  to  laugh  till — till — till  it  struck 
me  as  so  funny !" 

Her  voice  rose  and  broke  in  another  peal  of  hysterical 
merriment,  her  words  became  unintelligible,  while  Nolan 
literally  ground  his  teeth. 

'What  struck  you  as  so  funny  ?"  he  exploded.  "Show 
me  anything  funny  about  this  scene  and  I — I'll  eat  my 
megaphone.  What's  so  damn'  funny?" 

"Oh,  I  am  sorry !"  Lucinda  was  doing  her  utmost  to 
sober  herself,  but  still  her  voice  shook  and  her  body  rocked 
with  recurrent  spasms  of  idiotic  mirth.  "You  see — when 
you  said  that — what  you  said  about  Richards  being  a 
rotter — all  at  once  it  struck  me — I'm  sure  I  don't  know 
why — as  funny,  too  awfully  funny  for  words !" 


296  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

"W  ell,  why  ?"  Nolan  insisted,  all  but  dancing  with  rage. 
"Hell !  Give  me  a  reason.  Why's  it  funny  ?" 

"Because — well,  you  see — I  don't  like  to  criticize,  you 
resent  my  suggestions  so — but  really,  you  know,  this  is  a 
ridiculous  way  to  expect  Nelly  to  carry  on  when  she  hears 
what  she  hears.  She  isn't  in  love  with  Richards,  she  isn't 
even  in  love  with  Dick;  and  surely" — Lucinda  was  now 
rapidly  growing  serious  in  her  anxiety  to  justify  herself  to 
Nolan's  face  of  a  thunderhead — "surely  she  oughtn't  to 
go  all  to  pieces  just  because  she  hears  Richards  confess, 
what  she's  known  all  along,  that  he's  the  sort  of  a  man 
he  is." 

"Listen  here:  who's  directing  this  scene,  you'r  me? 
Who  wrote  the  continuity,  you'r  me?  Who  knows  best 
what  this  story's  all  about,  heh,  you'r  me  ?" 

"But,  Mr.  Nolan,  I'm  sure,  if  you'll  just  think  a  moment 
you'll  see  it  isn't  natural  for  a  girl  like  Nelly  to  rant 
like  a  tragedy  queen  over  this  situation.  She'd  be  hurt, 
I  grant  you,  and  she'd  be  angry,  angry  with  herself  as 
much  as  with  Richards,  but  she  wouldn't  tear  around  in 
this  corner  like  a  — like  Lillian  Gish  in  Broken  Blossoms 
when's  she's  trapped  in  the  scullery  and  her  father's  break- 
ing in  to  murder  her.  Don't  you  see?" 

"Sure  I  see."  Nolan  spoke  with  an  unwonted  evenness 
of  tone,  for  him ;  but  the  tone  was  ugly.  "I  see  a  lot  of 
things.  I  see  you've  made  up  your  mind  to  try  to  make 
a  fool  of  me,  arguing  about  my  visualization  of  this  scene 
like  you  have.  I  see  you're  dead-set  on  making  me  so 
mad  I'll  give  up  my  job  rather  than  go  on  trying  to  make 
an  actress  out  of  screen-struck  near-society  dame.  Well, 
all  right,  you  ixHn.  I  resign.  I'm  out.  You've  got  your 
wish.  And  this  time  I  don't  come  back,  not  if  you  was  to 
go  down  on  your  knees  to  beg  me  to  finish  this  fool  pic- 
ture !" 

In  an  abrupt  break  of  fury,  oddly  out  of  keeping  with 
the  level  tone  he  had  used,  Nolan  raised  the  megaphone 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  297 

above  his  head  and  with  all  his  might  cast  it  upon  the  floor 
at  Luanda's  feet. 

"And  that  ends  that,"  he  announced  quietly,  and  walked 
off,  leaving  Lucinda  in  a  temper  curiously  divided  between 
relief  and  regret.  For  this  time,  she  was  sure,  Nolan 
meant  it. 


XXXVI 

AT  a  late  hour  that  afternoon  the  war  council  of  the 
incorporators  of  Linda  Lee  Inc.  stalled  on  dead 
centre. 

Prolonged  discussion  had  failed  to  suggest  any  means 
of  salvaging  the  argosy  of  their  fortunes  from  speedy 
foundering.  No  sort  of  success  had  rewarded  the  quest 
of  a  navigator  at  once  competent  and  free  to  take  com- 
mand of  the  venture  which  Nolan  had  bungled  and  aban- 
doned; so  far  as  could  be  determined,  there  was  none 
such  at  liberty.  And  when  Lucinda  had  once  more 
iterated  her  unshakable  refusal  to  countenance  overtures 
looking  toward  the  reinstatement  of  Nolan,  silence  spell- 
bound the  four  gathered  together  in  that  tiny,  ill- furnished 
room  which  served  Lontaine  as  an  office,  the  silence  of 
spiritual  discouragement  and  mental  enervation. 

Fanny  alone  seemed  quick  with  an  elfin  fire  which 
enabled  her  to  skim  lightly  the  surface  of  that  slough  of 
despond  in  which  the  others  were  one  and  all  so  sadly 
bogged.  Perched  on  the  writing-bed  of  Lontaine's  war- 
worn desk,  she  sat  swinging  pretty  legs  in  the  space 
between  the  pedestals,  and  smoking  a  cigarette,  her  ab- 
stracted but  amused  gaze  roving  out  through  the  single 
window,  the  most  elusive  and  illegible  of  smiles  flickering 
about  her  paint-smeared  lips. 

Against  an  end  of  the  desk  leaned  Iturbide — bidden  to 
the  conference  because  of  his  wide  and  intimate  knowl- 
edge of  directors — with  hands  plunged  deep  into  trouser 
pockets,  his  oval  face  of  olive  tint  wearing  that  sullen  cast 
which  in  the  Latin  is  so  often  indicative  of  nothing  worse 
than  simple  thought  fulness. 

298 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  299 

In  a  common  chair  tilted  back  against  the  opposite  wall 
Lontaine  sat  absently  worrying  his  scrubby  moustache 
with  an  exquisitely  manicured  thumb  and  forefinger.  His 
look,  too,  was  sullen,  but  with  the  sullenness  of  fears  ag- 
gravated by  patience  worn  thin  and  threadbare.  He  had 
not  said  or  suggested  as  much  by  syllable  or  glance,  yet 
Lucinda  felt  that  he  held  her  solely  responsible  for  the 
break  with  Nolan,  and  was  weary  of  the  whole  business 
to  boot,  and  heartily  wished  himself  out  of  it.  But  she 
regarded  him  without  sympathy  if  with  little  resentment : 
his  suggestion  and  his  insistence  had  first  wrung  from  her 
a  reluctant  consent  to  try  her  luck  in  pictures,  his  mis- 
management alone  (who  had  plighted  such  brave  work  of 
his  superior  intelligence !)  had  been  responsible  for  the  en- 
gagement of  Nolan;  now  it  was  for  him  to  find  some  way 
out  for  them  all. 

But  the  most  curious  of  her  impressions  concerning 
Lontaine  was  one  that  seemed  absurdly  unfair,  yet  one 
from  which  she  could  by  no  means  divorce  her  imagina- 
tion, a  feeling  at  once  unfixable  and  insistent,  that  at  heart 
Lontaine  didn't  really  care,  that  he  was  contemplating 
quite  callously  the  threatened  wreck  of  his  fair  hopes  and 
fine  promises,  was  more  concerned  with  enigmatic  pre- 
monitions of  a  nature  wholly  personal  and  selfish. 

Lucinda  herself  occupied  the  desk-chair  of  the  presi- 
dent. Profound  weariness  temporarily  held  her  faculties 
in  suspense.  Her  least  formless  thoughts  were  of  the 
evening  to  come,  when  she  and  the  Lontaines  were  to  dine 
with  Summerlad  in  Beverly  Hills.  She  was  deciding  to  be 
beforehand  with  Harry  and  Fanny,  that  she  might  have 
a  little  time  alone  with  Lynn. 

Relentless  association  of  ideas  stirred  up  thoughts  of 
Bel,  speculations  as  to  whether  he  had  heard  as  yet,  and 
what  he  had  said,  or  what  he  would  say  and  think  when  hr 
did  hear.  Nothing  would  please  him  more  than  to  see  her 
pretensions  collapse  like  a  house  of  cards.  Well  .  .  . 
her  temper  grew  hard  with  defiance  ...  he  wouM 


300  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

be  disappointed  if  he  counted  on  her  heart  faltering  at  this 
juncture.  No  matter  how  black  the  present  outlook,  she 
would  go  through  to  the  end,  be  it  sweet  or  as  gall,  and 
bow  to  the  verdict  of  the  public  only,  never  to  the  blind 
bludgeonings  of  mischance. 

For  a  little  she  pondered  in  mild  puzzlement  the  riddle 
of  Bel's  relations  with  Nelly  Marquis,  recalling  a  scene 
that  recently  had  been  enacted  by  those  two  without  their 
knowledge  that  she  was  near.  A  few  nights  since  (last 
Tuesday,  in  fact ;  easy  to  date,  because  Lynn  had  attended 
the  boxing-matches  at  Vernon,  as  he  did  every  Tuesday, 
leaving  Lucinda  with  an  evening  empty)  she  had  been  sit- 
ting alone  on  the  veranda  of  the  Hollywood,  in  a  chair 
near  the  entrance  but  at  the  same  time  well  back  in  the 
shadows,  when  Bel  brought  Nelly  home  at  an  hour  indi^ 
eating  a  late  and  leisurely  dinner. 

His  car  had  swung  up  the  drive  to  stop  at  the  main 
entrance  to  the  hotel,  but  neither  Bel  nor  the  girl  made 
any  move  to  alight.  Unconscious  of  or  else  indifferent  to 
observation,  they  had  remained  in  the  rear  seat,  pursuing  a 
tense  discussion,  its  nature  unknown  since  only  the  con- 
fused rumour  of  their  voices  reached  the  ears  of  the  on- 
looker; Bel  forcing  the  argument,  advocating  Heaven- 
knew-what  with  a  great  deal  of  intensity,  not  much  like 
his  insouciance  of  everyday,  while  the  girl,  on  her  part, 
treated  all  his  recommendations  and  prayers  with  an  air 
of  trifling,  semi-coquettish,  faintly  derisive.  But  Bel's 
attitude  wasn't  in  the  least  loverlike,  more  that  of  a  man 
discharging  a  duty  which  he  found  distasteful  but  still 
couldn't  bring  himself  to  neglect,  something  that  had  to  be 
attended  to  no  matter  how  thankless  .  .  . 

The  dispute  continued  for  several  minutes  without  ap- 
pearing to  get  anywhere;  and  presently  Bel  leaned  for- 
ward and  spoke  to  his  chauffeur  round  the  side  of  the 
tonneau  wind-shield,  whereupon  the  car  rolled  out  into 
the  street  and  stopped  again  at  the  curb.  Then  Bel  got 
down  and  helped  Nelly  out,  and  the  two  of  them  sauntered 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  301 

tip  and  down  the  sidewalk,  now  visible,  now  hidden  by 
the  fretted  screen  of  subtropical  growths,  but  always  with 
their  heads  close  together,  always  with  Bel  maintaining  his 
air  of  almost  passionate  seriousness,  and  always  with  the 
girl  lightly  obstinate  and  teasing. 

In  odd  contradiction  to  this  impression  of  her,  Lucinda 
set  the  memory  of  Nelly's  face  viewed  at  close  quarters 
when,  having  parted  with  Bellamy,  she  hurried  up  the 
drive  and  into  the  hotel,  passing  without  noticing  Lucinda. 
Then  the  illumination  from  the  lobby,  escaping  through 
the  front  door,  had  shown  her  countenance  printed  with 
the  look  of  a  damned  soul  hunted  to  its  last  gasp,  a  look 
to  haunt  one's  dream  with  a  sense  of  terror  abject  and 
unabated,  of  savage  passions  unappeased  and  unappeas- 
able. 

What  all  this  had  meant,  Lucinda  couldn't  guess.  Of 
one  thing  only  she  felt  fairly  confident:  it  hadn't  been  a 
lover's  quarrel. 

Curious  that  one's  mind  should  revert  to  that  memory, 
at  a  time  when  it  ought  by  rights  to  be  exclusively  occu- 
pied with  one's  own,  peculiar,  and  never  more  critical 
embarrassments  .  .  . 

Altogether  without  warning  Lucinda  found  herself 
staring  into  the  homely,  greasy  grin  of  Isadore  Zinn. 

The  owner  of  the  studios,  without  troubling  to  knock, 
had  opened  the  door  far  enough  to  permit  the  introduction 
of  his  head  and  nothing  more  of  his  person.  For  a  mo- 
ment or  two  he  held  this  posture  playfully,  looking  from 
one  to  another  of  the  unhappy  four  with  a  leer  at  once  in- 
quisitive, knowing,  and  hideous.  Then  he  thrust  the  door 
wide  open,  came  in,  and  shut  it  behind  him. 

"Hello,  people !"  he  saluted  affably.  "How  you  making 
out?" 

"Ah,  that  good  Mr.  Zinn!"  Fanny  airily  replied.  "If 
you  really  must  know,  we're  not." 

Iturbide  stirred  and  shook  his  head,  smiling  gravely. 
"We  talk  and  talk  all  day,  Mr.  Zinn,"  he  said  gently,  "but 


302  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

we  don't  get  some  place.  You  want  to  know  why?  Be- 
cause there  is  no  place  for  us  to  get." 

"It's  an  impasse,"  Lontaine  stated.  Then  remarking 
Zinn's  nonplussed  stare,  he  interpreted:  "We're  all  in  a 
blind  alley,  you  know." 

"Bet  your  life  I  know  you  are,"  Zinn  agreed  vigorously. 
"That's  what  I  butted  in  to  see  you  about.  If  I  ain't  in 
the  way  ..."  The  four  made  reassuring  noises. 
"I  was  thinking  maybe  they  was  something  I  might  do  to 
help  out." 

"I'm  afraid  not,  Mr.  Zinn,  thank  you,"  Lucinda  replied 
with  regretful  gratitude.  "That  is,  unless  you  can  find 
us  a  director." 

"Funny.  That's  just  what  I  was  going  to  suggest." 
The  instant  stir  of  animation  encouraged  him  to  grin  more 
abominably  than  ever.  "Lay  my  hands  on  the  very  man 
you  want  inside  five  minutes ;  only  they's  one  catch  to  it — 
he's  under  contract  to  somebody  else." 

"Then  I  don't  quite  see — "  Lucinda  began.  But  Lon- 
taine interrupted:  "You  mean  we  can  buy  the  fellow's 
contract,  what?" 

Zinn  wagged  his  head.  "Not  a  chanst,"  he  uttered 
in  lugubrious  accents — "not  a  chanst.  I  wouldn't  sell 
that  boy's  contract  for  no  amount  of  money  you'd  want  to 
name.  Best  little  comer  't  ever  breathed  hard  into  a  mega- 
phone, and  I  got  him  so's  he'll  eat  out  of  my  hand  right 
now,  and  I'm  going  to  get  at  least  two  good  pictures  out 
of  him  before  I  let  him  loose  to  get  all  ruined  up  by  kind 
treatment.  Wally  Day's  the  lad  I'm  talking  about.  Got 
everything  a  guy  ought  to  have  to  make  a  loud  splash  in 
pictures  except  the  big-head,  and  he'll  get  that,  too — all 
you  got  to  do's  give  him  time.  Just  now  he's  the  only 
man  I  know  could  pull  you  out  of  the  hole  you've  got  your- 
selves into." 

"But  what's  the  use  of  tantalizing  us?"  Lucinda  de- 
manded fretfully — "if  Mr.  Day's  services  can't  be  begged, 
bought,  or  borrowed " 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  303 

"Well,  I  just  got  an  idea  maybe  we  could  come  to  some 
sort  of  agreement  about  letting  Wally  finish  up  your 
picture.  Like  this,  now :  I  been  watching  you  people,  the 
way  you  work,  the  way  you  been  doing  things,  and  seen  a 
lot  of  your  rushes,  and  I  got  an  idea  maybe  I  know  how  to 
make  your  picture  right,  maybe  I  and  Wally  could  fix 
it  up  between  us.  Now  listen :  you've  spent  a  bale  of  green 
money,  I  don't  know  how  much,  but  a  lot,  maybe  a  couple 
hundred  thousand  dollars,  maybe  more.  That's  all  right. 
We  don't  have  to  worry  about  that  till  I  come  to  look  at 
your  books " 

"Look  at  our  books !"  Lontaine  expostulated. 

Zinn  pacified  him  with  a  gross  hand  that  patted  the  air. 
"Sure  I  got  to  look  at  your  books,  ain't  I,  if  I  sit  in  on  this 
production  ?  What  I  mean  is  like  this :  You  sell  me  the 
production  as  is,  story,  continuity,  Miss  Lee's  contract, 
all  your  properties  V  everything,  and  I'll  pay  you  fifty 
per  cent  what  it  cost  you  to  date,  cash  money.  Then  I 
and  Wally  and  Miss  Lee  here'll  go  ahead  and  finish  up,  and 
it  won't  cost  you  anything  more,  Miss  Lee,  and  I'll  give 
you  ten  per  cent,  the  net  profits.  Meanwhile  you" — he 
nodded  to  Lontaine — "can  be  fussing  around  and  taking 
your  time  about  finding  a  studio  all  your  own  and  getting 
all  set  to  use  Miss  Lee  again  when  I  and  Wally  are  done 
with  her.  If  that  ain't  a  sporting  offer,  I  don't  know. 
What  you  say?" 

Lucinda  looked  dubiously  to  Lontaine.  His  eyes  had 
suddenly  grown  more  stony  and  staring  than  she  had 
ever  seen  them,  and  she  fancied  that  he  had  lost  a  shade  of 
colour ;  but  he  met  her  glance  with  a  quick  nod  and  said 
in  a  husky  voice:  "I  agree  with  Mr.  Zinn,  Linda." 

"You  advise !" 

"I  think  he's  made  a  very  handsome  offer.  It — it's  a 
clear  and  easy  way  out  for  us.  You  can't  lose  as  much  as 
you  stand  to  under  our  present  arrangements,  assuming 
things  shouldn't  turn  out  as  well  as  we've  been  hoping, 
and  you  may  make  some  money.  And,  as  he  points  out, 


304  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

it  will  give  us  time  to  look  around  and  make  up  our 
minds  just  what  we  want  to  do  next.  If  I  were  you,  I'd 
accept." 

Lucinda  delayed  another  moment,  then  turned  to  Zinn 
with  a  smile.  "Very  well,  Mr.  Zinn.  If  Mr.  Lontaine's 
agreeable,  I  don't  mind  ..." 

"Fine  business !"  Zinn  held  out  a  mottled,  hairy  paw. 
"I  and  you  don't  need  any  writing  between  us,  do  we, 
Miss  Lee?  Your  word's  good  enough  for  me,  all 
right  .  .  .  " 

His  hand  was  warm  and  moist  and  strong    ,    ,    . 


XXXVII 

HARRY  LONTAINE  got  home  at  a  late  hour  for  one 
who  had  it  in  mind  to  bathe,  dress,  and  put  in  ap- 
pearance for  an  eight  o'clock  dinner  several  miles  away. 
So  was  the  tempo  of  his  gait  unhurried  as  he  left  the 
blue-and-white  car  waiting  at  the  curb  and  passed  up  the 
straight-ruled  sidewalk  of  cement  between  the  tutelary 
orange  trees  of  the  bungalow  he  rented  furnished.  And 
on  its  miniature  veranda  he  delayed  for  several  minutes, 
motionless,  with  his  face  lifted  thoughtfully,  even  a  shade 
wistfully  to  the  sky  in  which  the  afterglow  of  sunset 
pulsed  like  dreams  of  youth  reviewed  across  the  desert 
years  of  middle-age  .  .  . 

Other  than  this  shy  colour  of  regret,  however,  nothing 
of  the  trend  of  his  thoughts,  nothing  of  their  nature,  es- 
caped the  eyes,  steel-blue  and  dense,  in  that  lean,  hard 
mould  of  features,  never  more  self-contained,  never 
more  British  than  in  this  moment. 

And  presently  he  roused,  but  without  change  of  coun- 
tenance, and  went  on  into  the  combination  living  and 
dining-room  to  which  the  best  part  of  the  dwelling  was 
given  over. 

Here,  where  the  dusk  held  close  and  still,  Lontaine, 
when  he  had  made  a  light,  wasted  no  more  time  than  was 
required  for  a  stop  at  the  buffet  to  treat  himself  to  a  con- 
siderably stiffer  drink  of  psuedo-Scotch  than  the  law  al- 
lowed, or — seeing  that  the  law  allowed  none  at  all — his 
superficial  necessities  seemed  to  call  for. 

Before  the  door  which  gave  upon  the  more  private 
quarters  of  the  house,  however,  he  hung  for  some  time  in 
seeming -reluctance  to  proceed,  a  suspicion  of  strained  at- 
305 


306  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

tentiveness  in  his  deliberation.  From  beyond  came  never 
a  sound.  Eventually  he  pushed  the  door  open. 

Immediately  he  saw  Fanny.  Bathed  in  a  great  glare, 
she  sat  in  her  dressing-room  facing  a  long  mirror  of 
three  panels ;  decked  out  en  grande  toilette,  wearing  every 
jewel  she  possessed,  groomed  to  the  finest  nuance  of  per- 
fection; a  brilliant  and  strangely  immobile  figurine  of 
modern  femininity,  with  bobbed  hair  like  burnished  brass, 
milk-white  bosom  and  arms  rising  out  of  a  calyx  of  peach- 
blow  taffeta,  jewels  stung  to  iridescent  life  by  that  fierce 
wash  of  light. 

As  if  hypnotized  by  so  much  bright  loveliness,  she  con- 
tinued steadfastly  to  gaze  upon  her  reflected  self ;  even 
when  she  heard  Lontaine  at  the  door  and  the  mirror 
placed  him  behind  her  in  the  doorway,  she  did  not  move 
by  so  much  as  a  trembling  eyelash.  Only  when  he  spoke, 
her,  lips  parted  in  answer,  though  still  she  neither  turned 
nor  ceased  to  contemplate  the  vision  in  the  glass;  as  if 
this  last  were  something  precious  but  tricksy,  something 
that  might  incontinently  vanish  forever  from  her  ken 
did  she  but  for  a  single  instant  turn  her  eyes  away. 

In  a  voice  that  strained  without  success  to  sound  easy 
and  natural,  Lontaine  said :  "Ah,  Fanny !  dressed  already, 
eh  ?  Must  be  later  than  I  thought." 

"It's  past  half-past,"  Fanny  replied  without  expression. 

Lontaine  glanced  nervously  at  the  back  of  his  wrist. 
"Right  you  are.  Never  dreamed  time  was  getting  away 
from  me  like  that." 

"You  have  been  .  .  .  busy,  yes?"  his  wife  en- 
quired with  a  distinctly  satiric  accent. 

"Rather.    Gassing  with  Zinn,  you  know " 

"To  be  sure."  The  satiric  inflexion  was  now  more 
marked.  "The  life-saver." 

"Not  a  bad  name  for  him,  that."  Lontaine  chuckled 
with,  however,  an  unconvincing  brevity.  "Daresay  Linda 
looks  on  the  little  beast  in  that  light,  at  all  events.  Had 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  307 

a  thousand  details  to  discuss  with  him  ...  ah 
.  .  .  naturally." 

"Naturally."    Fanny's  tone  had  become  again  illegible. 

"That's  what — ah—delayed  me.  Have  to  rush  for  it 
now — what  ? — or  Summerlad  '11  be  vexed." 

"You  really  think  so?  With  Cindy  there  to  console 
him?" 

"Something  in  that,  no  doubt.  Still" — Lontaine  made 
as  if  to  go  to  his  own  room,  but  lingered — "it's  hardly  the 
thing  to  be  so  much  behind  time.  See  here,  old  girl : 
you're  all  dressed  ...  I  say !  but  you've  laid  it  on  a 
bit  thick  tonight,  haven't  you  ?" 

"Don't  you  like  the  way  I  look,  Harry  ?" 

"Never  more  ravishing  in  all  your  life " 

"That's  good." 

"Good?  Afraid  I  don't  follow.  What's  got  into  you 
tonight,  Fanny?  You've  rigged  yourself  out  for  the 
opera  instead  of  a  simple  little  dinner  ..." 

"I  wanted  something  to  remember  myself  by,"  Fanny 
mysteriously  informed  the  mirror  to  which  her  attention 
continued  constant. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  Lontaine  paused  for 
answer,  but  Fanny  was  dumb.  He  essayed  another  short, 
confused  laugh.  "You  know,  Fan,  sometimes  you  think 
of  the  damnedest  things  to  say." 

"Yes:  don't  I?" 

He  recognized  one  of  her  mulishly  enigmatic  moods. 

"Mean  to  say,"  he  harked  back — "since  you're  quite 
ready — what's  the  matter  with  your  cutting  along  and  ex- 
plaining I'll  be  delayed  a  bit?  Tell  them  not  to  wait 
dinner  for  me  ..." 

"And  you?"  The  movement  of  enameled  lips  was  im- 
perceptible. 

"I'll  be  along  later,  of  course,  as  soon  as  I've  dressed. 
You  can  send  the  car  back  for  me.  Why  not?" 

"Why  not?" 

But  Lontaine  took  this  inscrutable  echo  for  assent,  and 


308  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

with  a  grunt  of  relief  disappeared  into  his  dressing-room. 
A  series  of  clicks  sounded  as  he  turned  on  lights.  Still 
the  woman  seated  before  the  mirror  didn't  move.  But 
her  interest  centered  no  longer  upon  what  she  saw; 
though  she  did  not  avert  her  eyes  from  the  glowing 
figure  painted  in  those  still,  shallow  depths,  all  her  atten- 
tion now  was  concentrated  in  another  faculty:  she  was 
listening. 

She  heard  Lontaine  moving  about,  chair-legs  scrape 
a  hardwood  floor,  the  snap  of  the  bathroom  light.  A 
pause  followed,  then  a  clashing  noise  of  bottles  and  toilet 
articles  impatiently  shifted  upon  their  glass  shelf.  After 
that,  Lontaine's  returning  footsteps.  Then  he  reappeared 
in  the  doorway. 

"Hello !     Thought  you  were  going  on  ahead." 

"Presently,"  Fanny  replied  in  brittle  accents.  "Plenty 
of  time.  Something  the  matter?" 

"Can't  find  my  razors." 

"No."  At  last  the  woman  broke  her  pose :  her  counter- 
feit in  the  glass  nodded  gravely  to  the  man  behind  her. 
"No,"  she  iterated — and  he  had  the  flying  thought  that 
her  voice  had  never  vibrated  so  sweetly — "and  you  won't 
find  them,  either,  Harry.  They're  in  a  safe  place,  it's  no 
good  your  hunting  for  them." 

"What !"  Lontaine  advanced  one  single,  sudden  stride. 
"What's  that  for?" 

"I  thought  it  might  save  trouble.  Ybu  see,  Harry,  I 
haven't  forgotten  that  hideous  scene  we  had  in  London, 
last  time  you  decided  it  was  all  up  with  you,  there  wasn't 
anything  to  do  but  cut  your  throat.  I  didn't  see  any 
sense  in  going  through  all  that  again." 

After  a  full  minute  of  silence  Lontaine  uttered  heavily : 
"I  see  you've  guessed  ..." 

"There  have  been  so  many  of  these  crises  in  our  life 
together,  Harry,  I  ought  to  know  the  signs — don't  you 
think?" 

The  man  stumbled  to  a  chair,  and  bent  a  louring  coun- 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  309 

tenance  over  hands  savagely  laced.  "What  else  can  I 
do?"  he  muttered.  "I'm  in  a  hole  there's  no  other  way 
out  of  ..." 

"There  are  steamers  every  so  often  from  San  Fran- 
cisco, for  Honolulu,  China,  Japan,  the  South 
Seas  ..." 

"No  use.  They'd  get  me  by  wireless  if  they  ever  al- 
lowed me  to  go  aboard.  Zinn  .  .  .  I'm  sure  that  Jew 
devil  suspects  .  .  .  insists  on  getting  at  the  books 
first  thing  tomorrow." 

"How  much  have  you  got  into  Cindy  for  ?" 

Lontaine  said  stupidly:    "Eh?  What's  that?" 

"How  much  have  you     .     .     .     borrowed,  Harry?" 

"Fifty  thou — perhaps  a  bit  more." 

Following  another  little  silence,  Fanny  gave  a  curt 
laugh,  left  her  chair  and,  standing  at  the  dressing-table, 
began  slowly  to  strip  off  her  jewels,  her  sunburst  brooch, 
her  flexible  bracelets,  the  pearls  that  had  been  her 
mother's,  all  her  rings,  even  that  slender  hoop  of  platinum 
and  diamonds  which  she  had  never  removed  since  the 
day  of  her  marriage. 

"Stocks?"  she  enquired  quietly.  Lontaine  replied  with 
a  dour  nod  and  grunt.  "Somebody's  sure-fire  tip,  of 
course,  some  'deal'  that  couldn't  lose  .  .  .  "  He 
grunted  again.  "Never  learn  anything  from  experience, 
do  you,  Harry?  I've  often  wondered  about  the  kink  in 
your  mind  that  makes  you  such  a  giddy  come-on,  eager  to 
risk  everything,  even  your  honour,  on  the  gossip  of  stock- 
market  touts  no  better  than  yourself  .  .  .  Ah,  well ! 
it  can't  be  helped,  I  suppose.  You  are  what  you  are — 
and  in  my  way,  God  knows,  I'm  no  better.  It's  all  been  a 
ghastly  failure,  hasn't  it,  Harry?  If  I'd  been  a  stronger 
woman,  I  might  have  made  it  another  story  for  you;  if 
you'd  been  more  of  a  man,  you  might  even  have  saved 
me  .  .  .  "  Lontaine  lifted  his  hand  sharply,  but 
his  eyes  wavered  and  fell  under  her  level,  ironic  stare. 


310  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

"But  it's  no  good  crying  now,  nothing  can  change  our 
natures  at  this  late  day." 

She  crossed  to  him  and  paused,  looking  down  not  un- 
kindly at  his  bowed  head  and  shoulders. 

"I  don't  love  you,  Harry,  and  you  don't  love  me.  It's 
funny  to  think  we  ever  did — isn't  it  ?  All  the  same,  we've 
been  through  the  rough  together  so  often,  I  presume  it's 
only  natural  I  should  be  fond  of  you  in  this  funny,  twisted 
fashion.  I  don't  want  you  to  go  away  thinking  I  blame 
you  ..." 

"Go  away  ?"  Lontaine  groaned.  "Where  can  I  go,  they 
wouldn't  find  me?  I'd  rather  be  dead  than  a  convict!" 

"Don't  worry :  I'll  soon  talk  Cindy  round,  persuade  her 
not  to  be  too  hard  on  you.  She's  fond  of  me,  poor  dear ! 
and  won't  find  out  I'm  as  rotten  as  you  are  till  you're  at  a 
safe  distance.  Here  ..."  She  bent  over  and  poured 
that  coruscating  wealth  of  jewelry  into  the  cup  of  Lon- 
taine's  hands.  "These  ought  to  see  you  a  long 
way  ..." 

"What !"  Lontaine  jumped  up,  staring  in  daze  at  the 
treasure  in  the  hands  that  instinctively  reached  out  to 
Fanny,  offering  to  give  back  her  gift.  But  she  stepped 
away  and  stood  with  hands  behind  her,  shaking  her  head 
so  vigorously  that  the  glistening  short  locks  stood  out  like 
a  brazen  nimbus.  "But,  you,  Fanny — what  will  you —  ?" 

"Never  fear  for  me,  Harry."  She  fixed  his  puzzled 
eyes  with  a  smile  of  profoundly  ironical  significance. 
"I'll  get  along  ..." 

"But  these  .  .  .  every  blessed  trinket  you 
own  .  .  .  !" 

"I'll  get  others." 

His  jaw  dropped.  She  continued  to  posture  lightly  be- 
fore him,  an  exquisitely  fragile  and  pretty  shape  of  youth 
deathless  and  audacious,  a  dainty  spirit  of  mockery  tempt- 
ingly incarnate,  diabolically  sage,  diabolically  sure  of  the 
potency  of  her  time-old  lures  .  .  .  What  she  had 
urged  was  true  enough,  too  true;  idle  to  let  scruples  on 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  311 

her  account  work  his  undoing.  Let  her  alone  and  she'd 
get  along,  no  fear,  she'd  get  other  jewels  when  she  wanted 
them,  just  as  she'd  said,  she'd  go  far  .  .  :.  At  heart 
as  wanton  as  he  was  weak  .  .  . 

He  felt  a  creeping  tide  of  blood  begin  to  scorch  his 
face,  and  avoided  the  cynical  challenge  of  her  eyes. 

"If  you're  content,"  he  mumbled  .  .  .  "daresay 
there's  nothing  more  to  be  said." 

She  nodded  gayly,  repeating  the  word  "Nothing !"  in  a 
flute-like  note  of  mirth.  Hanging  his  head,  he  began 
wretchedly  to  stuff  the  plunder  into  his  pockets,  muttering 
half  to  himself :  "What  a  pity !  If  only  I  could  have  had 
a  bit  of  luck ;  if  only  we  could  have  hit  it  off !" 

"If  you  hurry,"  she  reminded  him,  "you  can  catch  the 
night  train  for  San  Francisco,  you  can  just  about  make  it." 

"Well  .  .  .  "  He  glanced  uneasily  at  her,  and  again 
was  conscious  of  the  heat  in  his  cheeks.  "So  it  comes 
to  this  at  last  ...  eh  ?  ...  good-bye !" 

"Good-bye,"  she  repeated,  amiably  casual. 

"I  daresay  ..."  He  gave  a  dubious  chuckle. 
"Daresay  it's  stupid  but,  well,  the  usual  thing,  you 
know  ..." 

"Usual  thing  ?"  she  parroted,  with  faintly  knitted  brows. 

"To  kiss  good-bye." 

"You'll  miss  your  train." 

He  developed  a  moment  of  desperately  sincere  emotion : 
"Fan !  you've  been  a  perfect  brick  to  me,  a  perfect  brick. 
I  feel  like  a  dog,  leaving  you  like  this." 

"Oh !"  she  said,  as  one  indulges  a  persistent  child — "if 
you  really  want  to  kiss  me,  Harry,  go  ahead." 

Nevertheless  she  turned  her  mouth  aside,  his  lips 
brushed  only  her  powdered  cheek.  Then  she  stepped  back 
to  her  mirror  and  with  a  puff  made  good  her  impercep- 
tible damage  done  by  the  caress.  The  glass  showed  Lon- 
taine's  shadow  slinking  out.  She  heard  him  blunder 
through  the  living-room,  the  slam  of  the  screen-door.  And 
her  hand  fumbled,  the  powder-puff  dropped  unheeded, 


312  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

mist  drifted  across  her  vision,  she  gasped  a  breathless 
"Damn!"  Tears  meant  a  wrecked  make-up  .  .  . 

Though  there  was  need  enough  for  haste  if  he  were  to 
carry  out  the  plan  she  had  made  for  him,  Lontaine 
dragged  slowly  down  the  walk,  with  a  hang-dog  air,  the 
hands  in  his  pockets  fingering  the  price  of  the  last  sorry 
shreds  of  his  self-respect.  In  the  darkness  the  flesh  of  his 
face  still  burned  with  fire  of  shame  .  .  . 

Beside  the  car  he  halted  and  rested  with  a  hand  on  the 
door  for  so  long  a  time  that  the  chauffeur  grew  inquisitive. 

"Where  to,  Mr.  Lontaine?" 

"No,  by  God !"  Lontaine  blurted  into  the  man's  aston- 
ished face,  and  whirling  about,  strode  hastily  back  to  the 
bungalow. 

As  he  drew  near  he  could  hear  Fanny's  voice.  She  was 
at  the  telephone  in  the  living-room,  calling  a  number  he 
didn't  catch ;  Summerlad's  no  doubt.  One  had  forgotten 
all  about  that  wretched  dinner.  Then  the  connection  was 
established,  and  he  paused  with  foot  lifted  to  the  lower- 
most of  the  veranda  steps.  It  couldn't  be  possible  Fan 
was  talking  to  Summerlad,  in  that  voice  whose  tenderness 
called  back  old  times  .  .  . 

"Hello?  Is  it  you,  dear?  Fanny  .  .  .  First  chance 
I've  had  .  .  .  Poor  darling !  I've  been  aching  to  see 
you  all  day  and  tell  you  how  I  sympathized  .  .  .  Yes, 
any  time  you  please,  as  soon  as  you  like.  «  .  .  No: 
he  won't  mind,  he  ...  I  mean,  I'm  all  alone. 
Besides,  we  had  a  little  talk  tonight,  came  to  an  under- 
standing. He  won't  be  in  our  way  after  this,  ever  again, 
Barry  dear  ..." 

Something  amused  her,  peals  of  musical  laughter  hunted 
Lontaine  down  the  walk.  "Union  Pacific  Station !"  he 
cried,  throwing  himself  into  the  car.  "Drive  like  hell !" 


XXXVIII 

THAT  sunset  whose  reluctant  waning  Lontaine  was 
presently  to  watch  from  the  bungalow  veranda  was 
still  a  glory  in  the  sky  when  Lucinda  motored  to  Beverly 
Hills.  The  heavens  in  the  west  had  opened  out  like  a 
many-petalled  rose  of  radiant  promise,  whose  reflected 
glow  deepened  the  warm  carnation  of  her  face  and  found 
response  in  the  slow  fire  that  burned  in  dreaming  eyes. 
Those  whose  chance  it  was  to  view  so  much  mortal  loveli- 
ness in  too  fleeting  glimpses  all  envied  its  possessor, 
women  her  lot,  men  her  lover's. 

The  soft  air  of  evening,  already  tempered  with  an  earn- 
est of  the  coolth  to  come,  was  sweet  to  taste  with 
parted  lips.  Upon  the  perfect  highroad  the  car  swung 
and  swooped  and  swerved  like  a  swallow,  through  a  coun- 
tryside lapped  in  perennial  Spring.  She  thought:  This 
blessed  land!  and  thought  herself  thrice-blessed  to  be  at 
once  in  it,  in  love,  and  in  the  fairest  flower  of  her  years. 

Odd,  how  completely  that  compact  with  Zinn,  which  the 
clasp  of  their  hands  had  sealed  so  lately,  had  done  away 
with  every  form  of  fear  and  discontent.  Vanity  had  a 
deal  to  do  with  that,  no  doubt,  self-esteem  purring  with 
conviction  that  Zinn  would  never  have  offered  to  invest 
one  lonely  dollar  in  the  picture  had  not  his  appraisement 
of  Luanda's  work  on  the  screen  approved  the  risk.  Zinn 
smelt  profits  in  the  wind ;  that  much  was  manifest ;  which 
meant  that  success  was  assured  to  Linda  Lee.  The  loss  of 
half  the  little  fortune  she  had  sunk  in  the  production 
was  a  mean  price  to  pay  for  knowledge  that  failure  could 
now  reward  her  hopes  only  through  some  frown  of  for- 
tune unanticipated  by  one  of  the  canniest  of  those  sure- 
313 


314  LINDA   LEE    INC.  , 

thing  gamblers  whom  the  American  cinema  acclaims  its 
financial  genii. 

Best  of  all,  this  new  association  spelled  an  end  to  all 
that  meaningless  and  inexcusable  procrastination  from 
which  the  work  had  suffered  whenever  Nolan  felt  over- 
worked or  harkened  to  the  call  of  the  continuous  crap 
game,  an  institution  of  the  studio  that  had  its  perma- 
nent habitat  behind  one  of  the  stages.  Zinn  was  noto- 
riously scant  of  patience  with  delays  that  meant  money 
thrown  away;  and,  he  had  assured  Lucinda  (after  strik- 
ing his  bargain)  no  reason  existed  within  his  knowledge 
why  another  fortnight  shouldn't  see  the  last  scenes  of  her 
production  shot.  Much  admittedly  depended  on  how  little 
or  much  of  Nolan's  work  might  seem  to  need  retaking, 
when  the  three  of  them,  Lucinda,  Zinn  and  the  new  direc- 
tor, sat  in  judgment  on  the  rushes  in  rough  assemblage. 
But  Zinn  didn't  believe  they  would  find  many  instances  of 
incompetent  or  indifferent  direction  so  flagrant  that  they 
couldn't  be  cured  in  the  cutting-room.  .  .  .  It's  sur- 
prising what  a  cunning  pair  of  shears  and  a  neat  subtitle 
or  two  can  do  for  a  scene  that,  as  originally  photographed, 
is  good  for  nothing  but  insomnia  or  to  bring  on  scler- 
osis of  the  sense  of  humour. 

Nolan  had  left  to  the  direction  of  his  successor  only  the 
sequences  in  two  sets.  Lucinda  made  out  a  mental  time- 
table :  a  week  for  the  supper  club  scenes,  less  time  than 
that  for  the  living-room;  another  week  for  possible  re- 
takes, one  more  in  which  to  cut  and  assemble  the  finished 
picture.  In  a  month  at  most  she  ought  to  be  able  to  call 
herself  once  more  a  free  woman  and  bid  farewell  to  Holly- 
wood till  the  courts  had  made  that  boast  a  statement  of 
consummated  fact. 

A  single  month !  Such  a  little  time  when  the  journey's 
end  was  well  in  sight,  a  little  time  to  wait  for  life  to  yield 
up  all  its  riches.  It  was  harder,  truly,  to  be  patient  till  this 
lesser  journey  should  duly  come  to  its  appointed  end  in 
lovers'  meeting.  The  car  was  a  snail,  minutes  sluggards, 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  315 

the  beauty  of  the  land  a  bore  to  one  bitterly  jealous  of 
every  second  which  heed  for  speed  laws  stole  from  the 
half -hour  she  had  schemed  to  have  alone  with  Lynn  be- 
fore the  Lontaines  were  to  be  expected.  She  had  so  much 
happiness  to  share  with  her  beloved,  so  much  to  tell,  every- 
thing that  had  happened  since  morning,  a  busy  chapter  of 
studio  history  of  which  he  could  know  nothing,  since  he 
had  not  revisited  the  studio  since  leaving  it  for  work  on 
location  that  morning. 

It  seemed  a  churlish  chance  indeed  that  ordained  a  re- 
ception for  her  exclusively  at  the  hands  and  glistening 
teeth  of  a  semi-intelligible  Jap,  who,  when  he  had  uttered 
assorted  fragments  of  English  to  the  general  sense  that 
Mister  was  having  his  foot  treated  by  an  osteopath  at  the 
moment  but  would  soon  be  disengaged,  smirked  himself 
into  an  indeterminate  background  and  left  Lucinda  to 
make  the  best  of  this  minor  disappointment. 

Resolutely  denying  this  last,  she  put  off  her  wrap,  made 
herself  at  home,  and  sought  but  somehow  failed  to  distill 
a  compensating  thrill  from  the  reflection  that  she  would 
ere  long  be  called  upon  to  make  herself  at  home  here  for 
good  and  all.  'Ere  long'  meaning,  of  course,  after  Reno 
.  .  .  And  why  not?  The  house  was  excellently 
planned,  amply  big  for  two;  no  reason  why  Lynn  need 
move  unless  he  really  wanted  to.  Only  .  .  .  the  eye 
of  the  prospective  chatelaine  took  on  a  critical  cast  .  .  . 
some  details  would  want  a  bit  of  readjustment,  the  all  too 
patent  stamp  of  the  interior  decorator's  damned  good 
taste  would  require  obliteration  before  one  would  care  to 
call  the  premises  one's  very  own.  The  present  scheme, 
for  example,  lacked  anything  in  the  nature  of  a  study, 
wherein  one  might  lounge  and  read  and  accumulate  quan- 
tities of  books;  according  to  Luanda's  notion,  the  real 
nucleus  of  a  home  for  civilized  people.  Lynn,  poor  dear ! 
worked  so  hard,  he  had  little  time  to  give  to  reading;  a 
moan  it  was  his  wont  to  make  whenever  Lucinda  gave 
their  talks  a  literary  turn.  The  few  volumes  of  his 


316  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

collection  stood  in  sadly  broken  ranks  on  a  rack  of  shelves 
in  an  alcove  that  adjoined  the  living-room,  a  sort  of 
glory-hole  furnished  with  odds  and  ends  of  sham  Oriental 
junk  which  Lynn  called  his  "den"  and  Fanny  had  re- 
christened  "the  vamp  room." 

Curiosity  concerning  Lynn's  tastes,  when  he  did  find 
time  to  read,  moved  Lucinda  to  con  the  straggling  squad 
of  titles.  Novels  led  in  number,  naturally,  works  of  fiction 
old  and  new,  in  general  such  trash  as  furnishes  the  cinema 
with  most  of  its  plot  material.  In  addition,  a  subscription 
set  of  De  Maupassant  with  several  volumes  missing,  an- 
other of  O.  Henry,  Wells'  The  Outline  of  History 
(uncut),  the  Collected  Verse  of  Rudyard  Kipling,  six 
copies  of  the  same  edition  of  "Who's  Who  on  the  Screen, 
Laurence  Hope's  Indian  Love  Lyrics  in  an  exceptionally 
beautiful  binding  .  .  . 

With  a  chuckle  Lucinda  took  possession  of  this  last: 
Lynn  would  have  Laurence  Hope!  .  .  .  Evidently 
a  gift  copy.  When  she  opened  the  book  at  its  fly-leaf,  a 
slip  of  printed  paper  fluttered  out.  Without  pausing  to 
read  the  inscription,  Lucinda  retrieved  the  clipping:  a 
half-tone  from  one  of  the  motion-picture  monthlies,  a 
view  of  the  bungalow  grounds,  with  the  house  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  in  the  foreground  Lynn  and  a  young  woman 
arm-in-arm,  laughing  at  the  camera  .  .  . 

The  evening  had  grown  quite  dark  when  a  crisp  rattle 
of  the  telephone  startled  Lucinda  into  renewed  contact 
with  her  surroundings.  She  found  herself  in  the  recess 
of  one  of  the  living-room  windows  that  looked  out  over 
the  lawn.  The  book  was  in  her  hand.  Behind  her  a 
door  opened,  releasing  upon  the  gloom  a  gush  of  golden 
light.  Without  moving  she  watched  Summerlad,  in  a 
dressing-gown  hastily  thrown  on  over  dress-shirt  and 
trousers,  hobble  over  to  the  telephone  and  conduct  one  end 
of  a  short  conversation  of  which  her  wits  made  no  sense 
whatever.  He  hung  up,  and  peered  blindly  round  the 
room. 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  817 

"Linda,  darling?"  he  called.  "What's  the  big  idea,  sit- 
ting all  alone  in  the  dark  ?"  At  the  same  time  he  switched 
on  wall-sconces  and,  blinking,  saw  her.  "Just  our  luck  1" 
he  grumbled,  trying  to  sound  disconsolate.  "What  do  you 
think,  sweetheart?  Fanny  says  they  can't  come  tonight; 
Harry's  laid  up,  got  a  sick  headache  or  something,  and 
she  doesn't  think  she  ought  to  leave  him.  I  wonder  if 
you'd  mind  dining  here  with  me  alone,  this  once.  I  can't 
very  well  go  out  with  this  foot.  Eh?  What  do  you 
think  ?" 

Lucinda  made  no  sound.  His  eyes  narrowed  as  he  per- 
ceived the  abnormal  absence  of  colour  in  her  face,  the 
dark  dilation  of  her  unwavering  eyes.  Limping,  he  ap- 
proached. 

"What's  the  matter,  Linda?  Not  cross  with  me,  are 
you  ?  Hadn't  any  idea  you'd  be  so  early ;  and  today  I  gave 
my  foot  another  nasty  wrench,  out  on  location,  and  had 
to  call  Cheney  in  to  fix  it  up.  He's  just  left,  and  I  was 
starting  to  dress  .  .  .  What?" 

An  entreating  hand  silenced  him.  All  in  a  breath 
Lucinda  said :  "Those  things  don't  matter,  Lynn.  Why 
didn't  you  ever  tell  me  you  were  married?" 

Summerlad  said  "Damnation !"  half  under  his  breath 
and  moved  nearer,  till  another  flutter  of  her  hand  stopped 
him.  "That  wise  husband  of  yours!"  he  exploded  then, 
vindictively.  "I  suppose  he's  been  spilling  all  he  knows !" 

"Did  Bel  know  ?  Yes :  I  presume  he  must  have.  But 
you're  mistaken,  he  didn't  tell  me.  It  was  this  ..." 

Summerlad  frowned,  at  a  loss  to  identify  the  volume 
in  her  extended  hand. 

"I  found  it,  Lynn,  quite  by  accident,  while  I  was  wait- 
ing. Hope's  Indian  Love  Lyrics.  Don't  you  remember? 
.  .  .  See,  it's  inscribed:  'To  my  Lynn,  on  the  first 
anniversary  of  our  marriage,  with  all  my  heart,  Nelly* 
And  then  this  picture  of  you  two,  published  just  after  you 
came  here  to  live  .  .  .  Oh,  Lynn !  why  did  you  lie  to 
me  about  that  poor  girl?" 


318  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

For  a  moment  Summerlad  gnawed  his  underlip  without 
attempting  to  reply.  Then  with  a  sign  of  despair  he 
retreated  to  one  end  of  the  club-lounge,  against  which  he 
rested,  to  ease  his  foot.  He  said  something  in  an  angry 
mumble,  as  Lucinda  followed  into  the  room. 

"You  might  have  told  me,  Lynn     ..." 

"I  didn't  want  you  to  know." 

"You  must  have  known  I'd  find  out,  sooner  or  later." 

"I  thought  I  could  keep  it  from  you  until     ..." 

"Till  when?  Till  what?"  He  growled,  inarticulate 
with  vexation.  "To  let  me  go  on  thinking  .  .  . 
making  sucn  a  fool  of  myself  .  .  .  !  Since  you  don't 
live  together,  why  aren't  you  divorced?" 

"How  do  you  know  I'm  not?" 

"Because  you  told  me  that  lying  story  about  her.  But 
you've  lied  to  me  so  much  and  so  long,  no  doubt  you  think 
it  unreasonable  of  me  now  to  expect  you  to  remember 
everything  .  .  .  Anyway,  if  you'd  been  divorced,  you 
wouldn't  have  hesitated  to  own  it.  Why  aren't  you  ?" 

"She  refuses  to  divorce  me." 

"Why?" 

"How  do  I  know?  I  suppose  she's  still  stuck  on  me,  in 
her  way — hopes  to  get  me  back  some  time." 

"But  what  prevents  you ?" 

"Nelly  said  if  I  tried  to  divorce  her  she'd  fight  back, 
and  she  knows  ..." 

He  didn't  finish,  but  shut  his  teeth  on  a  blundering 
tongue  and  looked  more  than  ever  guilty.  But  Lucinda 
was  in  a  pitiless  temper. 

"About  you?  You  mean — about  you  and  other 
women  ?" 

"Hang  it  all !  I've  never  pretended  to  be  a  saint,  have 
I,  Linda?" 

"No  wonder  the  poor  thing  hated  the  sight  of  me! 
.  .  .  Oh,  how  could  you  have  been  so  unkind !" 

"If  you'd  only  give  me  a  show  to  explain    ..." 

Her  lip  curled:    "Explain!" 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  319 

"I've  been  doing  my  best,"  Summerlad  argued  resent- 
fully. "When  I  saw  how  it  was  going  to  be  with  you  and 
me,  and  found  out  Nelly'd  come  back  to  Hollywood,  I 
went  to  her  and  had  things  out — gave  her  some  money  and 
promised  her  more,  on  the  strength  of  her  promise  to  go 
back  home  and  get  a  divorce  on  the  dead  quiet." 
"And  did  you  hope  to  keep  that  a  secret  from  me?" 
"My  name  isn't  Summerlad,  anymore  than  hers  is  Mar- 
quis— or  yours  Lee.  I  thought  I'd  ...  I  thought 
everything  was  going  to  be  all  right  till  she  turned  up 
again  with  your  officious  husband." 

"You  think  Bel  had  something  to  do " 

"I  think  he  hunted  Nelly  up,  if  you  want  to  know, 
and  induced  her  to  come  back  here,  in  violation  of  her 
agreement." 

"But  Bel     ...    I  don't  quite  see    ...  " 
"He  wanted  Nelly  on  the  spot  as  a  sort  of  club  over  my 
head.    He  hasn't  given  you  up  yet" — Summerlad  laughed 
shortly — "not  by  a  long  sight." 
"A  club  over  your  head?    I  don't  understand" 
"Not  meaning  to  use  it  as  long  as  we  behaved  our- 
selves." 

"Behaved  ourselves !  Lynn !" 
"Oh,  forgive  met  I  didn't  mean  to  say  that." 
Summerlad's  look  mirrored  a  real  and  poignant  contri- 
tion as  he  saw  her  colouring  with  affronted  sensibility, 
drawing  back  from  him,  momentarily  slipping  farther 
beyond  his  reach.  "Linda !"  he  implored — "don't  look  at 
me  that  way.  I  can't  help  what  your  husband  thinks,  can 
I  ?  I  didn't  ask  him  to  come  out  here  and  be  the  pest  he  is, 
did  I?  After  all,  what  have  I  done?  I  lied  about  Nelly 
— yes — but  only  to  spare  your  feelings.  I  didn't  want  you 
to  think  people  might  be  talking  about  you,  stepping  out 
with  a  married  man.  If  you'd  thought  that,  you'd  have 
given  me  my  walking  papers'  and  .  .  .  and  I  couldn't 
do  without  you,  dear — I  can't !  The  others  never  mattered 
much,  they  sort  of  came  and  went,  mostly  I  didn't  care 


320  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

which  they  did.  But  you're  so  different,  you're  so  wonder- 
ful, everything  a  fellow  dreams  about.  I've  never  known 
anybody  like  you,  never  will  again.  If  I  lost  you  I'd — 
I'd — I  think  I'd  go  out  of  my  mind !" 

And  suddenly,  before  she  could  stir  to  escape,  he  caught 
her  to  him  and  held  her  fast. 

"Linda,  sweetheart ;  don't  be  angry  with  me.  I've  tried 
so  hard  to  be  good  enough  for  you.  And  you — you've 
loved  me,  too !  Don't  let  this  rotten  accident  spoil  every- 
thing for  us.  If  you  love  me — and  you  know  I  love  you — 
what  does  anything  matter?  What  if  we  are  both 
married?  What  difference  need  that  make?  Love  can 
still  be  sweet  .  .  .  " 

She  made  no  show  of  opposition,  only  drew  back  her 
head  to  cheat  his  lips;  but  when  she  tried  to  brave  his 
eyes,  thinking  to  read  therein  his  heart  and  mind,  she 
winced  from  recognition  of  the  hunger  that  informed 
them,  hunger  that  she  wittingly  had  whetted,  hunger  such 
as  she  herself  had  too  often  known  of  late,  like  warm 
wine  running  in  one's  veins  .  .  . 

But  always  ere  now  she  had  fortified  and  shriven  her 
conscience  with  the  belief  that  they  were  of  one  mind,  it 
must  and  would  be  Reno  first  .  .  . 

Now  Reno  no  longer  held  forth  any  promise  of  salva- 
tion, of  the  law's  sanction,  the  church's  countenance.  Even 
though  she  were  to  find  there  her  own  freedom,  Lynn 
would  still  be  bound.  It  wasn't  in  reason  to  hope  that  the 
woman  who  had  rejected  his  money  would  listen  to  other 
arguments.  Today  and  henceforward  it  must  be  all  for 
love  or  ...  nothing  ...  a  break  final  and  ir- 
reparable .  .  . 

And  for  all  the  shock  she  had  suffered,  for  all  the 
wrong  Lynn  had  done  and  the  pain  of  which  his  ill- faith 
had  been  the  cause,  the  love  she  had  given  the  man  still 
was  dear,  dangerously  sweet  and  disarming.  Already  she 
was  aware  of  anxiety  to  grasp  at  excuses  for  him,  to  com- 
fort the  ache  in  her  heart  with  the  thought  that  she  was 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  321 

according  charity  to  a  dear  transgressor,  already  she  felt 
her  strength  to  resist  being  sapped,  flesh  and  spirit  suc- 
cumbing anew  to  the  spell  he  knew  too  well  how  to  weave. 

She  wrestled  with  a  weakness  stronger  than  all  her 
strength.  They  couldn't  go  on  like  this  .  .  .  Lynn 
hadn't  said  it,  but  they  both  knew  it  ...  without 
going  farther  .  .  .  Even  Reno  couldn't  save  her  now, 
only  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  latent  in  her,  not 
even  that  if  she  failed  to  find  in  herself  the  will  to  hear 
and  be  guided  by  its  admonishments.  It  was  make  or 
break  .  .  . 

The  scales  hung  long  in  trembling.  They  turned  only 
when  Summerlad  unwisely,  losing  patience,  sought  to  take 
by  storm  the  lips  she  had  not  yet  made  up  her  mind  to 
surrender,  and  thus  aroused  resistance  till  then  dormant. 

With  an  ease  that  in  a  queer,  detached  way  she  found 
surprising,  she  managed  to  break  his  embrace.  Neverthe- 
less the  effort  left  her  faint.  She  faltered  to  the  fireplace 
and  rested  a  hand  on  the  mantel,  her  forehead  upon  the 
hand.  Lynn  followed,  stood  by  her  side,  not  touching  her 
but  keeping  her  enveloped  in  the  lethargizing  knowledge 
of  his  nearness,  his  strength,  his  passion.  Over  and  over 
he  murmured  gently:  "Linda,  Linda,  Linda  ..." 
Shaking  from  head  to  feet,  she  made  a  feeble  sign  of 
appeal.  He  disregarded  this  entirely,  his  arms  again  stole 
round  her  and  would  have  drawn  her  to  him  but  that,  of 
a  sudden,  her  mind  caught  at  a  straw  of  memory,  she 
drew  away,  with  a  hand  upon  his  bosom  put  him  firmly 
from  her,  eyes  that  were  melting  none  the  less  denying 
him,  lips  that  were  a-quiver  with  "Yes"  resolutely  pro- 
nouncing "No !" 

"You  are  cruel    ..." 

"No,  Lynn.  Wait.  Tell  me  something  .1  .  .  You 
say  she — your  wife  agreed  to  divorce  you?" 

"I  made  her  promise,"  Summerlad  asserted  grimly. 

"When  was  that  ?  The  day  she  disappeared  ?  The  day 
I  found  her  lying  senseless  in  her  room?" 


322  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

"I  suppose  so.    Does  it  matter  ?    Well,  then — yes." 

"You'd  just  left  her  when  I  found  her?" 

"I  daresay — approximately." 

"Tell  me  what  you  said  to  persuade  her." 

"See  here:  what  is  all  this?  What  are  you  driving 
at?" 

"I  want  to  know  .  .  .  Did  you  have  much  of  a 
scene?" 

"I'll  say  it  was  some  stormy  young  session." 

"Is  that  why  you  found  it  necessary  to  strike  her?" 

Summerlad  started.  "What!  Strike  her!  What  do 
you  mean  ?" 

But  his  eyes  winced  from  hers. 

"She — Nelly  had  a  bruise  on  her  cheek,  that  afternoon; 
and  it  wasn't  an  old  bruise.  Lynn :  you  struck  her !" 

"Perhaps.  Maybe  I  did  forget  myself,  I  don't  remem- 
ber. What  if  I  did?  She  asked  for  it,  didn't  she?  Do 
you  think  I've  got  the  patience  of  Job,  to  let  her  get  away 
with  insisting  on  standing  between  you  and  me?  I'd 
have  half -killed  her  if  she'd  stuck  to  her  refusal  to  go 
back  East!" 

Realizing  that  his  tongue  was  again  running  away  with 
his  discretion,  he  curbed  it  sharply,  on  the  verge,  perhaps, 
of  admissions  yet  more  damaging,  and  in  panic  essayed  to 
win  back  lost  ground. 

"But  what  of  that?    It's  ancient  history,  Linda." 

She  started  back  in  repulsion,  but  he  overtook  her  in 
the  middle  of  the  room  and  again  crushed  her  to  him. 

"Linda,  Linda !  what  do  these  things  matter  ?  I  love 
you,  dearest,  you  love  me,  nothing  else  matters,  nothing 
can  possibly  matter  but  our  need  for  each  other.  For 

God's  sake  be  kind  to  me !  forget " 

The  fury  of  her  antagonism  found  him  unprepared. 
Once  more  his  arms  were  empty.  And  this  time  when 
he  started  in  pursuit,  something  he  couldn't  see  struck 
him  brutally  in  the  chest  and  bodily  threw  him  back.  In 
the  same  instant  he  heard  a  heavy,  crashing  noise  he 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  323 

couldn't  account  for.  An  inhuman  sound.  It  shook  the 
room,  beat  deafeningly  upon  one's  ears.  As  if  someone 
had  overturned  a  heavy  piece  of  furniture.  Only,  no  one 
had.  Certainly  he  hadn't,  certainly  Lucinda  hadn't.  She 
was  flattened  against  the  farther  wall,  watching  him  with 
a  face  of  horror,  blanched  and  gaping. 

Enraged,  he  put  forth  all  his  strength  to  recover  from 
that  inexplicable  blow.  And  instantly  it  was  repeated. 
And  again.  Each  time  accompanied  by  that  savage, 
crashing  noise.  Like  thunder  cut  off  short.  And  each 
time  he  reeled  under  the  impact,  and  sickening  pains  shot 
through  him,  like  knives  white-hot  He  felt  himself 
sinking  .  .  . 

In  expiring  flashes  of  consciousness  he  saw  Lucinda, 
still  flat  against  the  wall,  staring  not  at  him  but  at  a 
French  window  nearby.  Between  its  curtains  a  woman's 
arm  was  thrust,  the  hand  grasping  an  automatic  pistol 
with  muzzle  faintly  fuming.  There  was  a  face  of  shad- 
owed pallor  dimly  visible  beyond  the  curtains,  a  face  with 
wild,  exultant  eyes  .  .  .  Nelly's  .  .  . 


XXXIX 

r  I"* O  the  woman  pinned  to  the  wall  by  shock — the  shim- 
X  mering  frivolity  of  her  evening  gown,  a  flimsy,  flut- 
tery  affair  of  silver  tissue,  lilac  and  blue,  lending  form 
and  colour  to  the  illusion  of  a  bright  butterfly  impaled — 
the  moments  immediately  following  that  murderous  fusil- 
lade were  a  raving  welter  of  horrors. 

Between  two  heartbeats  she  saw  Lynn,  with  a  face  as 
blank  as  paper,  spinning,  toppling,  beating  the  air  with 
aimless  arms,  pitching  to  the  floor  like  something  blasted, 
resting  there  in  a  sickening,  inert  crumple ;  and  was  keenly 
aware  of  the  acrid  reek  of  smokeless  powder  cutting, 
as  acid  cuts  oil,  the  sensuous  scent  of  the  roses  that 
dressed  the  room  in  her  honour;  and  all  the  while  was 
conscious  of  the  pistol  nosing  in  between  the  draperies 
like  an  animate  thing  of  infinite  malice,  and  the  pallid 
oval  of  the  face  behind  it,  that  seemed  to  float  in  the  dark 
as  might  the  mask  of  some  mad  ghost. 

As  the  din  of  those  three  shots,  beating  from  wall  to 
wall,  lost  weight  and  volume,  a  thin  shouting  became 
audible  from  some  point  outside  the  house,  and  Nelly 
Marquis  with  the  sweep  of  a  fury  broke  through  the 
hangings  at  the  window,  and  pulled  up  with  pistol  levelled 
point-blank  at  Lucinda's  breast. 

Through  the  least  of  pauses,  the  merest  fragment  of  a 
second,  a  time  measureless  in  its  lapse  to  one  whose  every 
function  was  frozen  in  paralysis  of  fear,  a  single  thought 
persisted :  Another  instant  and  I  shall  be  as  Lynn  .  .  . 
Nelly's  eyes  were  burning  like  black  malignant  opals  in 
a  countenance  at  once  luminous  and  wan.  Death's  icy 
grin  glimpsed  in  the  play  of  light  along  that  blunt  blue 
324 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  325 

barrel.  Lucinda  felt  as  one  caught  fast  in  the  pitiless 
jaws  of  some  tremendous  vice  whose  pinch  stilled  the 
beating  of  her  heart  and  arrested  her  labouring  lungs. 

Then  abruptly  through  the  window  a  dark  body  hurled 
and  fastening  upon  the  woman's  back,  swinging  her  aside, 
the  pistol  detonated  with  a  bellow,  the  bullet  plumped  into 
the  wall  close  by  Luanda's  head. 

She  heard  a  voice  crying  out  again  and  again :  "Bel ! 
Bel!  Bel!"  .  .  . 

Her  own  voice     .     .     . 

For  an  indeterminable  time  she  hung  in  dread  upon 
the  issue  of  that  swaying  combat:  while  Bel  clung  to 
the  woman's  arm,  muttering  and  panting  in  futile  efforts 
to  wrest  her  weapon  away;  while  Nelly  clawed,  bit, 
kicked,  pounded  her  free  fist  repeatedly  into  Bel's  face, 
and  wrenched  madly  at  her  captive  wrist. 

Of  a  sudden,  from  her  hand  a  spiteful  tongue  of  fire 
licked  out  at  Bel,  his  right  arm  flailed  back  and  fell 
useless,  agony  convulsed  his  features;  and  free,  the 
woman  bounded  away  and  with  the  laugh  of  a  maniac 
swung  the  pistol  to  bear  upon  his  head. 

Lucinda's  faculties  clicked  together  then  as  gears  mesh 
when  the  motor  has  been  idling;  the  call  of  the  emer- 
gency met  with  response  in  the  form  of  instant  and  direct 
action.  Without  knowing  what  she  did,  she  flune  herself 
upon  Nelly's  arm  and  bore  it  down.  With  deflected 
muzzle  the  pistol  exploded  for  the  last  time.  Dropping 
it,  Nelly  turned  on  Lucinda  and  dealt  with  her  as  might 
a  madwoman.  Impressions  grew  confused  beyond  as- 
sortment, of  flopping  wildly  this  way  and  that,  of  hot 
breath  beating  into  her  face,  of  her  bare  flesh  suffering 
a  rain  of  cruel  blows ;  of  elemental  lusts  to  maim  and  kill 
awakening  from  lifelong  slumber,  in  this  moment  of  close 
grips  with  a  warm,  living,  hating  and  hateful  human 
body  .  .  . 

Thrown  off  without  warning,  how  she  couldn't  guess, 
she  felt  herself  reeling  back,  tripping,  falling.  Something 


326  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

struck  the  back  of  her  head  a  stunning  blow,  and  she  knew 
flickering  nausea  while  dense  night  like  a  moving  cloud 
on  every  hand  closed  in  upon  her,  and  the  world,  in  the 
likeness  of  a  rainbow  swirl  streaked  with  fiery  paths  of 
sparks,  guttered  into  blank  nullity  .  .  . 

Nothingness  absolute  and  still  received  her,  harboured 
her  for  a  space,  spewed  her  back  into  life  again. 

Cold  rain  spattering  cheeks  and  brows  .  .  .  once 
more  the  heartrending  perfume  of  roses  .  .  .  anguish 
incomparable  racking  her  temples  .  .  .  her  heart  a 
wild  thing  caged  .  .  .  ammonia  in  strangling 
whiffs  .  .  . 

Choking  and  coughing  she  unclosed  her  eyes  upon 
the  vision  of  Beljs  face.  A  hand  holding  a  bottle  of 
smelling  salts  dropped  away  from  her  nose.  Bel  saluted 
her  reviving  intelligence  with  an  even  growl :  "Coming 
round,  eh  ?  About  time.  You'll  do  now,  I  guess.  Try  to 
pull  yourself  together.  No  time  to  lose." 

She  was  on  the  floor,  the  bulk  of  the  lounge  between 
her  and  the  spot  where  Summerlad  had  fallen;  her 
shoulders  propped  against  Bel's  knee,  her  head  resting  in 
the  crook  of  his  arm.  Summerlad's  Jap  boy  was  stand- 
ing by  with  water  in  a  silver  vessel.  At  a  nod  from  Bel 
he  filled  a  glass  and,  bending  over,  set  it  to  Luanda's  lips. 
While  she  was  gulping  thirstily,  Bel  said  something  she 
didn't  catch;  but  as  soon  as  she  turned  her  head  from 
the  glass,  the  Japanese  took  it  away  and  himself  as  well. 

The  living-room,  with  its  softly  lighted  walls  and  draped 
black  rectangles  of  windows  open  to  the  night,  presented 
itself  in  a  guise  inexplicably  unfamiliar.  She  felt  as  if 
she  had  been  a  long  time  away.  In  mystification,  looking 
back  to  Bel,  she  asked:  "I  fainted,  didn't  I?" 

He  grunted :  "You  struck  your  head,  when  that  hell- 
cat threw  you — went  out  for  ten  minutes  by  the  clock. 
How  do  you  feel  now?" 

"My  head  aches  ..."  She  discovered  that  Bel 
was  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  with  the  cuff  turned  back  above 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  327 

his  right  elbow,  the  forearm  rudely  bandaged  with  torn 
linen  on  which  a  deep  stain  was  spreading.  "But  Bel — 
your  arm ?" 

"Hurts  like  hell,  but  that's  the  worst  of  it,  thank  God. 
Bullet  ploughed  through  the  underside  from  wrist  to 
elbow,  nearly.  I'd  be  dead  if  you  hadn't  jumped  for  her." 

"And  I,  if  you  hadn't  come  through  the  window 
when  you  did." 

"If  you're  grateful  for  that — try  to  get  up." 

"But     .     .     .     Lynn?" 

Bel  laughed  shortly.  "The  excellent  Mr.  Summerlad's 
all  right — I  mean  to  say,  still  breathing.  That's  all  we  can 
tell  till  the  surgeon  gets  here.  Fve  telephoned.  The  fel- 
low ought  to  show  up  any  minute  now.  If  you  can  man- 
age to  get  a  grip  on  yourself,  I'd  be  glad  to  get  you  out 
of  here  first." 

"I  don't  understand     .    .    What  became  of — her?" 

"Got  away  clean,  worse  luck! — ducked  past  me  and 
through  the  window  like  a  shot.  I  tried  to  follow  but  she 
gave  me  the  slip  in  the  dark.  That's  all  right :  she  won't 
trouble  us  again.  She  left  her  pistol  behind — anyway,  it 
was  empty — and  the  police  will  pick  her  up  before  morn- 
ing .  .  .  Now :  how  about  getting  up  ?" 

"I'll  try,"  Lucinda  said  meekly.  "Please  help  me." 
But  then,  appreciating  that  she  was  in  no  way  incapaci- 
tated, she  got  up  unaided,  and  steadied  herself  with  a 
hand  on  the  back  of  the  lounge. 

Summerlad  lay  where  he  had  fallen,  on  the  far  side  of 
that  piece  of  furniture.  His  face,  upturned  to  the  staring 
light,  was  like  a  thing  of  sculptured  ivory,  expressionless 
and  bleached;  the  lips  ajar,  the  whites  of  his  eyes  alone 
visible  under  the  half-shut  lids  with  their  effeminate 
lashes.  The  shirt  beneath  the  flowered  dressing-gown 
was  hideously  blotted.  He  was  so  deathly  still  that  terror 
took  hold  on  Luanda's  heart  and  mind. 

"You  think  .  .  .  O  Bel!  do  you  really  think  he 
will  live?" 


328  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

"No  fear,"  Bel  sneered.  "He'll  make  a  fool  of  many 
another  woman  before  he's  finished.  Here:  put  this  on, 
will  you  ?" 

He  was  proffering  her  wrap.  Like  an  automaton  Lu- 
cinda  accepted  it,  but  seemed  to  forget  that  the  thing  was 
meant  for  wear. 

"Where's  your  car?" 

"I  told  my  driver  to  call  up  about  ten " 

"I'll  attend  to  that,  then.  My  chauffeur  will  run  you 
down  to  the  hotel.  I  think  he's  to  be  trusted.  Wish  I 
felt  as  sure  of  that  Jap." 

"Sure  of  him  ?" 

"Why  do  you  suppose  I'm  hurrying  you  away?  Do 
you  want  the  papers  to  get  hold  of  the  fact  you  were  keep- 
ing an  assignation  with  this  actor  when  his  wife  caught 
you  and  shot  him  ?" 

Lucinda  flinched,  faintly  remonstrated :    "Bel !" 

"Well  ?"  he  demanded — "got  anything  to  say  to  that  ?" 

"You  don't  think    .    .    .    nobody  would  dare   ..." 

"What's  the  reason  I  don't  think?  Why  wouldn't  any- 
body dare?  I  presume  you  expect  the  world — this  good, 
kind,  charitable  world  we  live  in — to  believe  'appearances 
are  against  you' !" 

Affronted,  she  held  her  answer,  seeing  her  husband  as 
with  eyes  from  which  scales  had  newly  dropped,  as  a 
man  she  barely  knew,  whose  fleshy  husk  alone  was  fa- 
miliar in  her  sight,  but  whose  spirit  was  altogether 
strange:  a  man  self-reliant  and  resolute,  skeptical,  cold 
and  hard  of  temper,  estranged  and  unforgiving;  witness 
the  contemptuous  incredulity  that  animated  his  regard. 

Smouldering  indignation  blazed,  she  threw  back  her 
head  with  eyes  as  cold  as  his,  a  mouth  as  hard. 

"You  are  insolent,"  she  pronounced  slowly.  "If  you 
think — if  you  dare  think  what  you  hint — what  is  it  to 
you  whether  I  go  or  stay?" 

"You  forget  you  neglected  to  get  rid  of  a  husband  be- 
fore taking  on  with  this  busy  lover  .  .  .  who  got 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  829 

precisely  what  was  coming  to  him,  if  you  want  the  truth 
for  once !" 

"Do  I  hear  you  setting  yourself  up  to  judge  him,  Bel?" 

"Do  you  know  anybody  better  qualified?" 

"By  what  right " 

"The  husband's  right!  Do  you  think  I  want  every 
paper  in  the  country  linking  your  name — my  wife's — with 
Lynn  Summerlad's  as  his  latest  mistress,  the  woman  who 
made  his  deserted  wife  so  jealous  she  tried  to  murder 
him?" 

Lucinda  let  her  wrap  fall.  "If  my  relationship  to  Lynn 
is  what  you  imply — then  my  place  is  here  with  him." 

"Please  yourself.  But  remember,  the  papers  are  going 
to  make  big  capital  out  of  this  scandal  in  the  movie  col- 
ony. They've  been  itching  for  it  for  years,  licking  their 
chops  with  impatience,  knowing  it  was  bound  to  break 
some  day  .  .  .  Good  God!  what's  got  into  you, 
Linda?  How  long  do  you  imagine  it'll  be,  after  this 
affair  gets  into  print,  before  the  reporters  will  ferret  out 
the  fact  that  'Linda  Lee*  is  Mrs.  Bellamy  Druce?  Do 
you  want  to  go  into  a  witness-box  and  testify  against  that 
demented  creature  when  she's  tried  for  murder  ?  Do  you 
want  everybody  who  knows  you — all  your  friends  back 
home — to  think  what  everybody  in  his  sane  mind  has 
every  right  to  think?" 

"What  you  think     ..." 

"What  the  devil  do  you  care  what  7  think?  But  if  it 
comes  to  that,  tell  me  this :  If  you  aren't  what  people  are 
going  to  say  you  are,  what  are  you  doing  here,  alone  with 
Summerlad,  in  his  own  home,  at  night  ?" 

"The  Lontaines  were  coming  to  dinner,  but " 

"  'But' !"  Bel  snorted.  "Oh,  all  right !  I'll  be  a  high- 
minded  ass,  if  that'll  satisfy  you ;  I'll  give  you  the  benefit 
of  the  doubt,  if  that'll  induce  you  to  clear  out  of  this 
before  it's  too  late.  But  don't  forget  I'm  the  only  one 
who  will.  His  wife  wouldn't — didn't.  Neither  will  an- 
other living  soul  who  knows  you  were  here  when  this 


330  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

thing  happened.  Your  only  salvation  now  is  to  get  back 
to  the  hotel  and  lie  low;  if  you  hear  any  rumours,  be  as 
much  surprised  as  anybody ;  if  you're  asked  any  questions, 
know  absolutely  nothing.  If  you'll  do  that,  and  leave  the 
rest  to  me,  perhaps  I  can  save  you." 
(  "You  are  too  kind " 

"I'm  not.  Don't  fool  yourself.  I'm  thinking  of  nobody 
but  Bellamy  Druce.  All  I'm  after  is  to  save  my  name 
from  being  linked  up  with  this  rotten  business.  Think  of 
yourself,  as  I'm  thinking  of  myself,  then.  Think  whether 
it's  going  to  be  worth  the  name  you'll  get,  to  have  the  sat- 
isfaction of  this  heroic  gesture,  this  theatrical  effect  of 
sticking  bravely  by  the  side  of  your  actor  lover — so  nobly 
wounded! — this  man  whose  promiscuous  amours  have 
made  his  name  a  by-word  even  here,  even  in  Hollywood ! 
.  .  .  But  for  the  love  of  God,  think  quickly !" 

He  ceased  upon  a  note  of  impatient  admonishment, 
then,  when  Lucinda  remained  silent,  changed  his  tone. 

"I  treated  you  badly  enough,  God  knows !  but  you  paid 
me  out  properly,  you  can  afford  to  be  magnanimous  now. 
I've  done  nothing  to  deserve  your  active  ill-will  since  you 
left  me.  And  it  isn't  as  if  you  could  do  Summerlad  any 
good  by  staying.  His  fate's  all  up  to  the  surgeons.  And 
you  can  trust  me  to  see  that  everything  possible  is  done  for 
him.  I'll  keep  you  posted,  I'll  come  to  the  hotel  tonight 
and  tell  you  what  the  surgeon  says>." 

He  bent  with  painful  effort  and  lifted  her  wrap.  She 
took  it  without  a  word,  swung  it  round  her  shoulders, 
turned  and  left  the  room. 

Bellamy  followed  as  far  as  the  front  door.  His  car 
was  waiting  on  the  drive,  its  motor  running.  The  chauf- 
feur, already  instructed,  held  the  tonneau  door  for  Lu- 
cinda, closed  it  smartly,  smartly  climbed  into  place  at  the 
wheel.  She  looked  back  as  they  drew  away.  Bellamy 
stood  en  silhouette  against  the  light,  nursing  his  bandaged 
arm.  A  turn  in  the  drive  blocked  out  that  picture,  the 
car  wheeled  sharply  into  the  public  street,  gathered  speed* 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  331 

And  Lucinda  crouched  down  in  her  corner,  chilled  to  her 
marrow  by  realization  of  the  loneliness  of  her  lot,  from 
whom  Life  had  stripped  away  even  the  forlorn  company 
of  her  last,  most  dear  illusion  .  ,  . 


XL 

A  MAZING  to  learn,  upon  authority  as  sound  as  that 
JT\.  of  the  clock  in  the  hotel  lobby,  that  the  age  of  the 
evening  was  still  something  short  of  nine  .  .  .  pre- 
posterous to  credit  that  lapse  of  time  so  little  could  have 
wrought  the  transformation  of  life's  kindly  countenance 
at  close  of  day  to  its  present  cast,  so  bleak,  forbidding, 
and  implacable  .  .  . 

Yet  neither  circumstance  was  a  whit  less  certain  or 
more  disputable  than  the  other.  And  that  the  hour  was 
what  it  was,  no  earlier,  no  later,  gave  one  good  reason 
for  thanksgiving.  For  now  the  miscellaneous  dinner  mob 
with  its  components  of  envious  sharp  eyes  and  ungenerous 
tongues  had  scattered  on  its  various  ways;  while  the 
cinemaniacs  were  not  yet  due  to  come  trooping  home  from 
the  neighbouring  halls  of  their  addiction.  Only  the  elder- 
lies  remained  in  evidence,  that  element  of  the  clientele 
which  Fanny  had  styled  the  Grumpies  in  discrimination 
from  the  Gaddies;  staid,  smug  bodies  in  black  taffeta, 
old  lace  fichus  and  rocking-chairs,  or  stiff  collars,  shape- 
less trousers  and  blunt-nosed  boots,  devoted  to  solitaire, 
fancy-work,  and  gossip  of  the  home-brewed  brand  that 
cheers  but  not  inebriates;  a  species  of  migratory  peren- 
nials to  whom  the  cotton-wool  climate  of  Southern  Cali- 
fornia is  a  sort  of  gracious  prelude  to  the  grave;  at  once 
avidly  intrigued  by  and  as  honestly  innocent  of  that  other 
Hollywood  with  whose  lively  denizens  they  rubbed  shoul- 
ders daily,  as  of  the  other  world  and  its  press  of  equally 
unquiet  souls. 

Dotting  the  public  rooms  with  little  groups,  engrossed 
in  cards,  knitting,  and  placid  prattle,  these  took  only 
332 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  333 

casual  account  of  the  flying  transit  of  that  vision  of  ele- 
gance and  youthful  charm  with  evening  wrap  caught  high 
about  the  pretty  face.  Such  sightly  shapes  were  too  much 
a  commonplace  of  their  deliberate  and  self-sufficient  days, 
and  always  passed  in  haste;  as  young  blood  does  ever, 
irrationally  enough,  having  so  much  time  before  it,  so 
little  patience  .  .  . 

So,  though  she  knew  them  for  a  pack  of  greedy  scandal 
scavengers,  and  conceived  every  eye  among  them  to  be 
regardful  of  her  and  all  her  shifts  to  deceive  them  spent 
for  naught,  not  one  who  observed  her  guessed  with  what 
agitation  she  was  a-quake,  what  unrelenting  urgency 
whipped  on  her  feet  till  they  all  but  stumbled  in  their 
eagerness  to  find  her  sanctuary  behind  locked  doors, 
where  she  might  ease  off  at  last  the  tension  of  self-control, 
pillow  her  sore  and  aching  head,  and  give  range  to  the 
pent  tempest  of  emotions  brewed  by  love  thwarted  and 
chagrined,  faith  confounded,  dreams  done  shamefully 
to  death  .  .  . 

Fleeting  free  of  that  gauntlet,  she  gave  a  sigh  to  find 
herself  in  the  quiet  corridor  leading  to  her  apartment. 
How  good  it  was  to  think  she  would  in  another  minute 
be  alone,  what  an  inspiration  had  been  hers  when,  looking 
forward  to  an  evening  long  drawn  out,  she  had  given  her 
maid  liberty  till  morning ! 

She  passed  the  door  through  which  she  once  had  ven- 
tured to  discover  Nelly  Marquis  lying  in  a  faint  brought 
about  by  Lynn's  cruelty.  .  .  .  And  now  what  would 
become  of  that  one?  Whither  had  she  turned  in  her 
flight?  with  what  hope  of  asylum  or  immunity?  A  hap- 
less creature  beating  blindly  through  the  night,  a  land- 
bird  swept  to  sea  by  an  off-shore  gale,  questing  what  it 
might  never  hope  to  find  .  .  . 

Lucinda  slipped  into  her  sitting-room,  turned  the  key, 
found  the  switchbox  near  the  door,  and  in  an  abrupt 
blaze  of  illumination  stood,  startled  beyond  speech,  face 


334  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

to  face  with  the  woman  the  riddle  of  whose  fate  had  been 
riding  her  imagination. 

One  of  Nelly's  hands  was  planted  flat  against  the  wall ; 
but  this  support  helped  not  at  all  to  abate  the  vicious 
racking  of  her  body  by  nerves  deranged.  The  other,  a 
begrimed  fist,  was  fumbling  at  her  mouth.  Those  eyes 
whose  haunted  beauty  had  first  laid  claim  to  one's 
humanity  were  now — their  blazing  madness  of  a  short 
hour  since  dispelled — black  pools  of  pathos  in  a  face 
whose  chalkiness  was  runneled  by  tears  and  framed  in 
hair  like  tarred  rope  unravelled.  Her  dress  of  hackneyed 
smartness  was  bedraggled,  the  skirt  marked  by  knees  that 
in  some  fall  had  ground  into  loam.  The  black  satin  slip- 
pers were  pale  with  dust,  and  the  openwork  stockings, 
which  boasted  two  great  tears  as  well. 

In  that  first  flash  of  affrighted  recognition,  Lucinda 
started  back  to  the  door  and  fumbled  for  the  key,  but 
had  yet  to  find  it  when  the  woman  plunged  down  to 
grovel  at  her  feet,  catching  at  her  knees,  lifting  up  a 
face  of  torment,  supplicating  against  teeth  that  chattered 
as  if  with  an  acute  ague. 

"O  Mrs.  Druce,  Mrs.  Druce!  I'm  all  right  now,  I 
am,  I  swear  I  am !  Forgive  me,  and  for  God's  sake  don't 
turn  me  out,  don't  call  the  police !" 

Still  frightened  and  mistrustful,  Lucinda  yet  held  her 
hand  on  the  knob.  "What  do  you  want?"  she  asked  in  a 
voice  that  shook. 

"Just  to  talk  to  you  a  minute  .  .  .  Don't  be 
afraid  ..." 

"I'm  not  afraid,"  Lucinda  lied.  Nevertheless,  in  com- 
passion and  dawning  reassurance,  she  stooped,  freed  her 
skirts  from  the  clutching  hands,  and  stepped  back.  "Get 
up,"  she  said,  watchful.  "Tell  me  plainly  what  you 
want  ..." 

The  woman  scrambled  to  her  feet  again,  cringing  and 
fawning.  "I  had  to  come,"  she  protested.  "I  didn't  know 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  335 

where  else  to  go,  I  had  to  know.  Mrs.  Druce :  please  tell 
me,  is  he  .  .  .  Did  I  hurt  him  bad  ?" 

"Desperately,"  Lucinda  replied,  wondering  at  the  re- 
serve of  fortitude  which  enabled  her  to  speak  with  such 
composure.  "Whether  he'll  live  or  not  we  don't  know 
yet.  He  was  unconscious  when  I  left,  before  the  doctor 
came." 

"You  left  him  that  way?  You  didn't  wait  to  find  out ! 
O  my  God!" 

"Are  you  reproaching  me  ?"  Lucinda  retorted  in  amaze- 
ment— "as  if  it  were  I  who  shot  your  husband !" 

"My  husband !"  Nelly  shrilled.  "It's  yours  I'm  talking 
about,  it's  Mr.  Druce.  It's  not  knowing  how  bad  I  hurt 
him  that's  driving  me  crazy  .  .  .  not  meaning  to 
harm  even  his  little  finger,  I  hope  to  die !  I  didn't  hardly 
know  who  he  was,  that  time  while  we  was  fighting 
.  .  .  "  She  drove  her  knuckles  against  her  mouth 
again  and  sunk  teeth  into  them  till  pain  helped  her  re- 
assert self-control.  "I  didn't  know  what  I  was  doing!" 
she  mumbled  between  sobs "I  didn't  know." 

"Do  you  know  now?" 

"Oh,  I  do,  I  do !  I'm  all  right  now,  honestly  I  am.  I 
know  what  I've  done  and  what — what  I've  got  to  pay  for 
doing  it.  But  I  don't  care!"  She  jerked  up  her  chin, 
bravado  fighting  with  fear  in  her  eyes.  "Lynn  only  got 
what  was  coming  to  him.  I  warned  him  often  enough, 
time  after  time  I  told  him  how  it  was  all  bound  to  end 
if  he  kept  on  like  he  was  doing;  but  he  wouldn't  listen, 
he'd  just  laugh  and  tell  me  what  I  could  do  if  I  didn't 
like  his  ways.  ...  I  don't  mean  I  threatened  him, 
Mrs.  Druce.  It  wasn't  like  that.  I  don't  believe  I  ever 
dreamed  of  striking  back  at  him  before  today.  I  always 
thought  it  would  be  some  other  woman  would  do  it, 
somebody  that  didn't  love  him  like  I  did,  and  couldn't 
stand  being  treated  like  a  dog,  just  because  he  got  tired 
— I  always  thought  somebody  like  that  would  make  Lynn 
pay,  I  never  thought  I'd  have  the  nerve.  But  today,  all 


336  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

at  once,  I  couldn't  seem  to  stand  it  any  longer  .  .  . 
And  when  I  looked  in  at  that  window  and  saw  you  alone 
with  him,  and  him  holding  you  in  his  arms,  even  if  you 
did  try  to  make  him  quit  .  .  .  But  I'm  not  sorry! 
Lynn  never  treated  any  woman  so  mean,  and  I  guess  it 
was  right  his  punishment  should  come  from  me.  I  ain't 
a  bit  sorry,  I  hope  he  dies.  ...  Do  you — do  you 
think  he  will?" 

To  the  implicit  hope  that  thus  gave  vaunted  impenitence 
the  lie,  Lucinda  returned,  in  a  low  tone  and  against  her 
wish,  the  one  word,  "Probably  ..."  and  saw  the 
woman  quail  and  writhe  away,  twisting  her  thin,  graceful 
hands  into  each  other  till  their  knuckles  shone  dead  white 
through  the  tortured  skin. 

"I  don't  care,"  she  wailed — "I  don't !  And  anyway,  it 
wasn't  about  him,  it  was  Mr.  Druce  I  came  here  to  find 
out  about.  I  couldn't  go  away  without  knowing  .  .  . 
He's  been  such  a  prince  to  me,  a  regular  prince,  and  I 
never  meant  him  any  harm.  It  just  makes  me  sick  to 
think  ..."  She  swung  passionately  back  to  Lu- 
cinda. "Won't  you  please,  please  tell  me  how  bad  he's 
hurt?" 

"Not  much — a  flesh  wound  in  the  arm " 

"Thank  God  it  wasn't  worse!"  Nelly  drooped  heavily 
against  the  wall,  with  a  pathetic  smile  testifying  to  her 

relief  of  mind.    "I'd  never  have  forgiven  myself,  never 
n 

Profound  fatigue  seemed  to  be  overcoming  her.  The 
quavering  murmurs  failed  upon  her  lips,  her  eyes  closed, 
her  head  sagged  toward  one  shoulder. 

"Are  you  in  love  with  him,  then?"  Lucinda  demanded 
inexorably.  "Is  Bel  in  love  with  you  ?" 

Startled,  Nelly  stood  away  from  the  wall,  with  a  hys- 
terical note  in  the  laugh  that  scorned  this  notion.  "No,  no, 
no,  no !"  she  cried.  "He  isn't  that  sort.  You  ought  to 
know  he  isn't.  I  don't  know  what  the  trouble  was  between 
you  two,  but  I'll  tell  the  world  it  wasn't  on  account  of  any 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  337 

other  woman  ...  It  wasn't  as  if  Mr.  Druce  didn't 
have  his  chance,  either ;  any  time  he'd  wanted  it  he  could 
have  had  it  with  me,  any  time !" 

"Yet  you  tell  me  you're  not  in  love  with  him !" 

"You  don't  have  to  be  in  love  in  the  picture  business 
.  .  .  "  The  fugitive,  twisted  smile  vanished  away,  the 
lustreless  eyed  stared  into  space.  "Mostly  it's  better  if 
you  aren't.  If  you  are,  it's  likely  to  turn  out  like  it  did 
with  me  and  Lynn.  If  a  girl  wants  to  get  on,  she  can't 
afford  to  care  for  anybody,  only  herself.  It  hasn't  mat- 
tered much  to  me  what  happened,  since  Lynn  .  .  . 
But  Mr.  Druce  never  as  much  as  held  my  hand." 

"Wouldn't  you  tell  me  that  anyway?" 

"It's  God's  honest  truth." 

The  statement  was  made  without  spirit,  as  one  of  sim- 
ple, provable  fact.  And  for  all  her  memories  of  Bel's 
misconduct,  Lucinda  believed. 

Wearily  the  woman  began  to  pull  about  her  shoulders 
a  wrinkled,  sleazy  wrap. 

"Guess  I'd  better  be  going,"  she  said  with  eyes  averted. 
"Thank  you  for  being  so  kind.  I'm  glad  Mr.  Druce 
wasn't  much  hurt,  and  I  wish  you'd  tell  him  I'm  sorry  for 
everything.  I  didn't  mean  to  do  it,  but  I  just  went  crazy 
when  I  saw  you  and  Lynn  together,  and  him  making  love 
to  you.  I  don't  remember  much  about  what  happened, 
but  I  guess  it  must've  been  pretty  awful  for  you,  and  I'm 
sorry. 

Continuing  to  avoid  Lucinda's  eyes,  she  plucked  at  her 
cloak  once  more  and  moved  toward  the  door ;  but  faltered 
on  finding  that  Lucinda  stood  in  her  way  and  didn't  offer 
to  budge.  "I'd  better  go,"  she  iterated  uneasily. 

"Where?" 

"I  don't  know."  Nelly  wagged  a  head  of  desolate 
uncertainty.  "There  isn't  any  place  I  can  think  of  now, 
they  wouldn't  find  me.  Only  .  .  I'm  sorry  about 
Lynn,  and  I'm  not  going  to  suffer  any  more  on  his  account 
unless  I  have  to.  So  it's  up  to  me  to  be  on  my  way." 


338  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

"Wait  a  minute,  please."  Remaining  between  the  girl 
and  the  door,  Lucinda  pursued :  "I  want  to  know  how 
you  got  in  here.  How  did  you  get  back  to  the  hotel  so 
quickly?" 

"From  Beverly  Hills,  you  mean?  Oh,  I  had  luck  and 
caught  a  trolley  without  having  to  wait.  They  make 
pretty  good  time,  you  know.  And  then,  when  I  got  here 
...  I  wanted  to  go  up  to  my  room  and  get  some 
money.  .  .  I  was  afraid  to  come  in  the  front  way,  I 
thought  maybe  they'd  telephoned  or  something,  so  I  tried 
the  side  door.  They  don't  lock  that  till  about  nine  o'clock. 
And  just  as  I  came  in,  I  noticed  the  chambermaid  unlock- 
ing this  door,  and  it  come  over  me  like  a  flash  you'd 
probably  be  coming  home  pretty  soon,  and  I  was  worried 
about  Mr.  Druce ;  so  I  slipped  in  while  she  was  in  your 
bedroom,  and  hid  behind  that  chair  there  till  she  went  out 
again." 

"But  what  if  they've  locked  the  side  door  since?  It 
must  be  after  nine  now.  You  won't  be  able  to  leave 
except  by  way  of  the  office." 

"I  guess  I'll  have  to  take  my  chances  ..."  She 
bent  upon  Lucinda  a  look  of  flickering  defiance.  "Any- 
how, what  do  you  care  ?" 

"I  don't  like  to  think  of  your  being  caught" 

"Why?" 

"I  don't  know,  unless  it's  because  I  think  you've  been 
punished  enough  already.  You'd  better  wait  and  rest  for 
a  while,  at  least  till  the  house  quiets  down.  And  perhaps 
we  can  think  of  some  way  .  .  .  Don't  you  think 
you'd  better  trust  me  ?" 

For  another  instant  suspicious  eyes  searched  Luanda's, 
then  with  a  half -nod  the  girl  wilted  into  a  chair.  "All 
right,"  she  acquiesced  with  the  passivity  of  a  child  chas- 
tened by  terror — "just's  you  say,  Mrs.  Druce.  Only,  I 
don't  see  why  you're  being  so  good  to  me." 

Lucinda  had  no  answer  to  that.  Her  motive  was  not 
more  obscure  to  that  muddled  mind  than  to  her  own. 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  339 

Unless,  of  course,  it  had  to  do  with  that  enduring  image 
of  the  bird  storm-beaten,  weary  of  wing  and  bewildered 
by  the  dark,  risking  the  debatable  mercy  of  mankind 
in  its  stark  necessity  .  .  . 

She  stood  pitiful,  contemplating  the  creature  who 
huddled  in  the  chair,  shivering,  whimpering  a  little,  gnaw- 
ing her  knuckles,  with  the  dazed  eyes  of  an  animal 
hunted  to  its  last  gasp  seeking  to  probe  the  fearful  am- 
biguity of  the  future.  A  murderess  by  intention,  whom 
the  word  of  any  moment  might  prove  a  murderess  in  fact. 
.  .  .  And  one  couldn't  condemn  or  reproach  her,  one 
couldn't  shrink  from  her  because  of  the  crime  that  stained 
her  hands,  one  couldn't  even  win  one's  own  consent  to 
send  her  out  to  chance  the  retributon  she  had  invited. 

Incomprehensible  the  alchemy  of  the  human  heart! 
Lucinda  was  making  up  her  mind  to  help  a  sinner  circum- 
vent justice  .  .  . 

"Tell  me  something,"  she  said,  with  no  more  preface: 
"You've  been  calling  me  Mrs.  Druce.  How  did  you 
learn  that  was  my  name?  Did  Mr.  Druce  tell  you?" 

Only  the  hand  of  the  girl  moved  in  a  sign  of  dissent, 
and  her  lips  to  shape  the  words :  "It  was  Lynn  told  me." 

"Lynn!" 

"Mr.  Druce  never  said  as  much  as  a  word  about  you. 
I  don't  believe  he  knows  I  know  now.  I  thought  he 
didn't  want  me  to  know,  so  I  never  let  on ;  but  of  course 
I  did  know,  all  along." 

"Lynn  told  you  when ?" 

"That  time  you  found  me  on  the  floor,  you  know.  I 
guess  I  ought  to  apologize  for  the  way  I  treated  you,  but 
I  was  all  upset,  I  hated  you  on  account  of  what  Lynn 
had  told  you  about  me  and  all." 

"I  don't  think  I  blame  you — now." 

"You  wouldn't  've,  then,  if  you'd  been  through  what  I'd 
been  through  that  afternoon  .  .  .  Lynn  didn't  let  me 
know  he  was  coming,  or  send  his  name  in  or  anything,  he 
just  walked  in  through  the  window  while  I  was  getting 


340  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

dressed  to  go  out.  He  said  I'd  got  to  clear  out,  go  back 
home,  where  I  come  from  in  the  East.  He  said  if  I  didn't 
I'd  spoil  everything  for  him,  if  you  ever  found  out  about 
me  you  wouldn't  have  any  more  to  do  with  him,  and  then 
where'd  be  his  chance  of  getting  in  with  New  York  so- 
ciety people  like  you  trained  with.  He  took  out  a  hundred 
dollars  and  put  it  on  the  bureau  and  said  I'd  got  to  take 
it  and  go  home  and  he'd  send  me  fifty  dollars  every  week. 
I  said  I  wouldn't,  and  he  said  I  would  if  he  had  to  ship 
me  East  on  a  stretcher.  I  forget  what  I  said  then,  but 
I  was  pretty  wild,  I  guess,  and  he  hit  me,  and  I  don't  re- 
member anything  after  that,  except  waking  up  to  find 
Lynn  gone  and  you  taking  care  of  me." 

She  jumped  in  the  chair,  cried  out  shrilly,  and  clapped 
a  hand  over  her  heart  when  the  telephone  sounded  a  per- 
emptory call.  Lucinda,  answering,  heard  the  voice  of 
her  chauffeur :  he  had  called  up  Mr.  Summerlad's,  some- 
body there  had  told  him  Miss  Lee  had  gone  home  already 
and  wouldn't  want  him  again  that  night,  and  he  wanted  to 
make  sure  that  was  all  right. 

"Yes,  Ben,"  Lucinda  assented,  "it's  quite  all  right.  I 
left  that  word  for  you,  but  .  .  .  just  a  minute  .  .  . 
I  may  change  my  mind." 

"It'll  be  all  right  with  me,  Miss  Lee,  if  you  want  to  go 
out  again." 

"Yes,  Ben,  I  know ;  and  thank  you.  But  if  I  decide  to 
use  the  car  again  tonight,  I'll  drive  it  myself — alone,  you 
understand.  If  you  wouldn't  mind  bringing  it  to  the  side 
door  of  the  hotel  in  about  an  hour  and  leaving  it  there 
.  .  .  No;  don't  wait  for  me,  I  may  be  delayed;  just 
leave  the  car  and  go  home.  I'll  take  it  to  the  garage  when 
I'm  through  with  it." 

When  Lucinda  hung  up  she  found  Nelly  slewed  round 
in  the  chair  and  watching  with  darkly  doubting  eyes,  to 
which  she  responded,  with  a  slight  smile:  "That  was 
inspiration.  While  Ben  was  talking,  it  occurred  to  me, 
the  only  possible  way  for  you  to  escape  would  be  in 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  341 

somebody's  car.  So  I've  arranged  to  let  you  steal  mine. 
You  can  leave  it  wherever  you  think  it  safe  to  get  aboard 
a  train.  You  can  drive,  of  course?"  Nelly  nodded. 
"Then  if  you'll  come  into  my  bedroom,  you  can  lie  down 
and  rest  while  I  find  you  a  change  of  clothes.  I'm  afraid, 
if  the  police  get  a  description  of  you  dressed  as  you  are, 
you  wouldn't  have  much  chance  ..." 

Before  she  could  surmise  or  move  to  defeat  the  girl's 
intention,  Nelly  had  caught  one  of  her  hands  and  was 
weeping  and  slavering  over  it. 

"You're  so  sweet  and  good  to  me!"  she  sobbed.  "I 
can't  make  out  what  makes  you  so  kind!" 

"I  think,"  Lucinda  said,  with  gaze  remote — "I  think  / 
am  beginning  to  understand  ..." 


XLI 

IN  an  interlude  of  difficulty  to  beggar  all  believing,  re- 
sponse to  Lucinda's  forbearance  all  at  once  swept 
like  a  great  wind  over  those  treacherous  emotional  shal- 
lows, kicking  up  their  still  unsettled  dregs  of  hysteria, 
storming  in  wild  squalls  of  gratitude,  remorse  and  shame, 
driving  shoreward  that  frail,  crank  pleasure-craft  which 
was  the  soul  of  Nelly  Marquis,  leaving  it  at  the  last 
stranded  in  a  slough  of  self-pity  and  abasement,  where  it 
rested  in  maudlin  wreckage,  weeping,  lamenting,  calling 
out  upon  its  shabby  gods  for  that  they  had  forsaken  it. 

Early  in  this  scene  Lucinda  made  shift  to  get  the 
woman,  half-leading,  half-dragging  her,  into  the  bed- 
chamber where  the  seizure  might  spend  itself  unheard  by 
passers  in  the  public  corridor.  But  for  a  tedious  while 
after  she  had  persuaded  her  to  lie  down  she  made  no 
headway  toward  stemming  her  transports ;  and  sitting  on 
the  side  of  the  bed,  suffering  Nelly  to  cling  to  her  hands, 
seeking  to  pacify  her  whenever  in  a  lull  she  could  make 
words  tell,  learned  enough  from  her  maunderings  to 
sicken  one  with  the  very  thought  of  love. 

As  if  what  had  been  had  left  her  in  need  of  this  last 
disenchantment!  .  .  . 

Sheer  persistence  in  the  end  proved  tranquillizing,  the 
woman  ceased  to  toss  and  writhe  continually,  her  com- 
munications became  more  lucid.  But  she  wouldn't  hear 
of  being  left  alone  for  a  nap,  she  wouldn't  release  Lu- 
cinda's hands,  she  wouldn't  heed  suggestions  that  it  might 
perhaps  be  well  for  her  to  get  up  and  change  to  the  cloth- 
ing which  Lucinda  had  provided.  Time  enough  for  that, 
she  argued,  when  Mr.  Druce  had  been  and  gone.  Maybe 
Lynn  hadn't  been  as  much  hurt  as  Lucinda  believed.  If 
he  hadn't,  he  could  be  depended  upon  to  move  heaven 
342 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  343 

and  earth  to  save  his  fair  name  in  the  esteem  of  picture 
fans  from  the  odium  that  must  attach  to  it  should  the 
news  get  out  that  he  had  been  shot  up  by  a  discarded 
wife.  Anyway,  they  couldn't  tell  anything  for  certain 
till  Mr.  Druce  had  kept  his  promise  to  report  the  sur- 
geon's verdict. 

Besides,  if  it  came  to  the  worst,  if  it  turned  out  that 
Nelly  would  have  to  cut  and  run  for  it,  the  later  the  hour 
at  which  she  left  the  hotel  the  better,  the  fewer  people 
there  would  be  about  to  see  her  go  ... 

It  had  been  agreed  that  it  would  never  do  for  Lucinda 
to  ask  for  the  key  to  the  side  door.  But  if  she  chose  to 
stroll  out  through  the  lobby,  accompanied  by  a  young 
woman  well  cloaked,  the  chances  were  that  the  latter 
would  pass  unquestioned  as  some  friend  who  had  dropped 
in  to  spend  the  evening  with  her. 

"But  are  you  quite  sure  you  feel  strong  and  well  enough 
to  drive  the  car  yourself?"  Lucinda  misdoubted  for  per- 
haps the  hundredth  time,  though  for  the  first  openly. 

The  woman  on  the  bed  gave  her  hand  a  small  jerk  of 
petulance.  "Don't  you  worry  your  head  about  me,  Mrs. 
Druce,"  she  insisted.  "I'll  be  all  right.  I  can  drive  any 
make  of  car  there  is,  and  I  know  all  the  roads  out  of 
Los  Angeles  like  a  book.  Why,  when  me  and  Lynn  was 
living  together,  we  didn't  hardly  ever  have  any  use  for 
a  chauffeur." 

"Where  will  you  go,  then  ?" 

"Up  North,  I  guess,  by  the  Coastal  Highway.  I  can 
make  Santa  Barbara  by  morning  easy.  But  I  don't 
know,  maybe  I  might  go  right  through  to  Frisco.  That's 
where  I  want  to  get,  you  know.  It  ought  to  be  easy  to 
lie  low  in  a  town  like  Frisco.  Anyhow,  wherever  I  de- 
cide, I'll  shoot  you  a  wire  first  thing,  telling  you  where  I 
left  the  car.  I  only  wish  I  didn't  have  to  take  it,  somehow 
it  don't  seem  right.  But  there!  maybe  I  won't  have  to 
.  .  .  And  unless  I  do,  there  wouldn't  be  any  sense  in 
my  leaving  all  my  clothes  here  and  everything,  would 
there  ?  What  time  is  it  now  ?  A  person  would  think  Mr. 


344  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

Druce  wouldn't  be  much  longer,  wouldn't  they?  I  suppose 
you  wouldn't  want  to  call  up  Lynn's  house  and 
ask  .  .  ." 

"I'd  rather  not." 

"I  kind  of  thought  you'd  feel  like  that  about  it.  It 
would  look  too  much  like  worrying  about  Lynn,  wouldn't 
it?"  Lucinda  made  no  reply,  and  after  a  moment  of 
dumb  staring  at  the  ceiling  a  shadow  of  complacency 
modified  Nelly's  fretful  look.  "I  guess  it's  all  over  with 
Lynn  now,  as  far  as  you're  concerned,  isn't  it  ?" 

"Yes,"  Lucinda  said  with  the  slowness  that  spells  re- 
straint— "as  far  as  I'm  concerned,  it's  all  over." 

"I'm  awfully  sorry,"  the  girl  asserted,  her  voice  in  turn 
carrying  the  colour  of  complacency — "I  mean,  sorry  for 
you.  You  must've  been  awfully  stuck  on  Lynn." 

"Yes  .  .  .  "  To  offset  a  choke  in  her  voice  Lucinda 
added  with  a  hard  laugh :  "Awfully !" 

"It's  terrible  to  have  to  give  up  a  man  like  Lynn 
.  .  .  Don't  7  know!" 

Lucinda  bluntly  changed  the  subject.  "What  will  you 
do  now?"  she  asked — "I  mean,  after  this  blows  over. 
Will  you  go  on  with  your  picture  work  in  the  East  ?" 

"I  don't  know  ...  I  guess  not  .  .  .  No- 
body's likely  to  give  me  another  chance  .  .  .  Lynn 
isn't  going  to  be  able  to  keep  the  truth  from  leaking  out  in- 
side the  business,  of  course ;  and  he's  terribly  popular,  his 
friends  will  take  good  care  I  don't  get  another  job.  I 
guess  I've  gone  and  fixed  it  for  myself  in  the  picture 
business,  all  right,  no  matter  what  .  .  .  Unless,  of 
course,  I  might  maybe  change  my  name  or  something." 

"But  this  picture  my  husband  is  making:  he  won't  be 
able  to  go  on  with  it  with  you  out  of  the  cast,  I  presume." 

Nelly  laughed  outright.  "I  guess  that  won't  worry  Mr. 
Druce  a  terrible  lot.  You  don't  suppose  he  cares  two 
whoops  what  happens  to  that  picture  now,  do  you?" 

"Why  not?  Why  did  he  start  making  it,  un- 
less .  .  .  ?" 

"Why  don't  you  know,  Mrs.  Druce?    I'd  Ve  thought 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  34£ 

you'd  've  been  wise  to  that  dodge  all  along.  All  Miv 
Druce  went  into  the  film  business  for  was  to  be  near  you." 

"You  believe  that?" 

"Why !" — the  girl  laughed  again — "it's  just  as  plain  as 
paint  to  anybody  in  the  know;  I  mean,  anybody  that 
knows  you  two  are  married  but  living  separate  on  account 
of  some  row  or  something.  All  Mr.  Druce  cares  about 
pictures  a  person  could  put  in  their  eye  and  never  know 
it.  He  just  wanted  a  good  excuse  to  be  near  you  and 
take  care  of  you  in  case  anything  .  .  .  like  tonight 
.  .  .  or  if  he  thought  you  was  beginning  to  take 
Lynn  too  seriously  or  anything  .  .  .  Anyway,  that's 
how  I  figured  it  from  the  very  first.  He  had  it  doped 
it  would  cramp  Lynn's  style  to  see  me  around  the  studio 
all  the  time,  and  maybe  make  him  break  it  off  with  you. 
And  so  did  I.  Only  I  guess  neither  of  us  guessed  how 
hard  Lynn  had  fallen  for  you." 

"You  haven't  told  me  how  my  husband  happened  to 
engage  you." 

"Well,  he  just  went  after  me  and  wouldn't  take  no  for 
an  answer.  He's  like  that,  you  know.  Of  course,  I 
don't  know  what  the  trouble  was  between  you  two,  but  I 
don't  see  how  you  ever  stood  out  against  a  man  like  him, 
Mrs.  Druce." 

"Where  were  you  when  he  found  you  ?" 

"Back  home.  You  see,  after  Lynn  gave  me  that  hun- 
dred .  .  .  and  what  happened  ...  I  was 
afraid  to  stay  in  Hollywood,  I  didn't  know  what  else  he 
might  do  to  me.  And  besides,  I  simply  couldn't  stand 
seeing  you  stepping  out  with  him  all  the  time,  it  made  me 
simply  wild.  So  I  went  right  back  to  Findlay." 

"Findlay?" 

"The  place  in  Ohio  where  my  people  live." 

"And  that's  where  Mr.  Druce  found  you?" 

"I'd  only  just  got  back  when  a  man  came  to  town,  Mr. 
Roberts  he  said  his  name  was,  and  said  he'd  got  me  a 
swell  offer  to  go  back  to  the  Coast  and  act  for  a  new  com- 
pany just  starting.  I  kind  of  thought  there  was  some- 


346  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

thing  fishy  about  it,  because  I  never  was  much  in  pic- 
tures ;  and  why  should  they  send  somebody  all  the  way  to 
Findlay  to  get  me  when  they  could  've  got  plenty  just 
as  good  right  here  in  Hollywood?  Anyhow,  I  was 
afraid  of  Lynn,  so  I  said  nothing  doing.  Next  I  knew, 
Mr.  Druce  himself  come  to  see  me  and  said  I'd  got  to  go 
back  to  Hollywood  with  him  and  make  pictures  and  I 
could  write  my  own  contract.  Of  course,  as  soon's  I 
heard  his  name,  I  tumbled  to  what  it  was  all  about ;  and  I 
thought  if  you  got  to  seeing  a  lot  of  your  husband  you'd 
give  Lynn  the  air  .  .  .  chuck  him,  I  mean  .  .  . 
and  maybe  .  .  .  Ah !  7  don't  know  ..." 

She  was  quiet  for  a  moment,  in  wide-eyed,  wonder- 
ing abstraction.  "Somehow  I  never  got  over  being  crazy 
about  Lynn,  you  know,"  she  said  in  a  quieter  tone  than 
she  had  yet  used — "not  even  when  he  treated  me  mean- 
est." 

In  this  pensive  mood  she  mused  on:  "You  know, 
sometimes  I  think  it's  all  wrong  the  way  women,  like  you 
and  me,  take  everything  a  man  wants  to  hand  out  to  us, 
just  to  hold  him.  They  keep  telling  you  it's  the  only  way ; 
but  the  way  it  looks  to  me,  it  hardly  ever  works  .  .  . 
I  mean,  unless  the  man's  crazy  about  you,  like  Mr. 
Druce  .  .  . 

"Of  course,  I  know  it  isn't  any  of  my  business,  Mrs. 
Druce,  but  I  haven't  got  any  hard  feelings  towards  you 
on  account  of  Lynn  and  all,  not  any  more,  and  I'm  per- 
fectly sincere  when  I  say  /  think  you'll  be  making  one  big 
mistake  if  you  don't  make  it  up  with  Mr.  Druce  as  soon's 
ever  you  can  now  ..." 

The  house  telephone  came  to  Lucinda's  rescue:  Mr. 
Druce  was  calling,  if  Miss  Lee  would  be  kind  enough  to 
overlook  the  lateness  of  the  hour  .  .  . 

Luanda  promised  to  get  rid  of  Bel  as  soon  as  she  could, 
and  in  return  exacted  the  girl's  promise  to  rest  quietly  and 
not  worry.  Then  she  shut  herself  out  into  the  sitting- 
room,  and  had  almost  immediately  to  answer  the  door. 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  347 

Bel's  light  motor-coat  hung  from  his  shoulders  with 
empty  sleeves,  by  which  device  he  was  able  to  make  no 
parade  of  the  fact  that  his  right  arm  was  in  a  sling.  His 
features  were  drawn  and  grey,  his  speech  slow  with 
weariness,  but  his  eyes  keen,  steady  and  (Lucinda  made 
sure,  looking  sharply)  wholly  unsentimental;  while  his 
greeting,  characteristically  abrupt — "Still  up,  eh?" — was 
accompanied  by  ironical  recognition  of  her  unchanged 
evening  costume. 

"I  waited  up  for  you,"  Lucinda  replied  sufficiently  to 
both  words  and  look.  "How's  your  arm?" 

"Nothing  to  brag  about,  but  no  worse  than  I  thought. 
A  bit  stiff  and  sore,  that's  all." 

"You  look  fearfully  tired,  Bel.    Won't  you  sit  down?" 

Irony  again  tinged  his  flying  smile.  "No,  thanks. 
Won't  stay  but  a  minute.  I  promised,  so  here  I  am. 
But  I'm  dog-tired,  and  as  soon  as  I've  turned  in  my  re- 
port, I'll  cut  along." 

"Well     .     .     .   ?" 

"He's  got  one  chance  in  a  thousand  to  pull  through. 
Say  what  you  like  about  that  young  woman — she  can 
shoot.  Only  one  shot  went  wrong,  merely  smashed  his 
shoulder.  One  of  the  others  just  missed  his  heart,  the 
third  drilled  through  his  lungs.  Wouldn't  give  a  great 
deal  for  all  the  show  he's  got." 

Grim  watchfulness  was  rewarded  by  her  slight  start, 
a  swift  darkening  of  Lucinda's  eyes,  but  no  flinching, 
after  an  instant  a  slow  nod,  nothing  more.  "Nothing  to 
say?"  Bellamy  demanded  in  pitiless  humour. 

"Thank  you  for  letting  me  know." 

"And  that's  all?" 

"Was  there  something  you  expected  me  to  say,  Bel? 
Sorry  to  disappoint  you  ..." 

"Well:  you  knew  the  fellow  better  than  I " 

"If  it  interests  you,  you  may  as  well  know  now  what  I 
didn't — not  before  tonight." 

"You  didn't  know  Summerlad  was  married ?" 


348  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

"If  another  man  dared  ask  me  that  question,  I  think 
even  you  would  resent  it." 

"Perhaps.  Daresay  it's  the  husband's  astigmatic  point 
of  view.  However,  I  didn't  mean  to  be  offensive." 

"Do  you  seriously  ask  me  to  believe  that,  Bel  ?" 

"Damn  it,  Linda !  you  always  did  have  the  faculty  of 
putting  me  in  the  wrong." 

"Isn't  it  more  true  that  you  haven't  yet  mastered  the 
faculty  of  always  putting  yourself  in  the  right?" 

"Perhaps  we'd  better  let  it  go  at  that.  One  thing's 
certain,  I'm  none  too  happy  in  my  efforts  to  express 
myself  tonight.  Daresay  I'd  better  clear  out  before  I 
make  things  worse  ..."  Nevertheless  he  delayed. 
"That  girl  .  .  .  she  got  away.  Not  a  trace  .  .  .  " 

"Are  they — is  anybody  looking ?" 

"The  police  have  got  that  job  in  hand.  I  had  rather  a 
time  with  them,  you  know.  They  didn't  fancy  my  story 
at  all,  at  first,  couldn't  see  why  the  devil  I  had  let  Nelly 
escape.  The  circumstance  that  she'd  shot  me  in  the  arm 
didn't  seem  to  carry  any  weight;  in  fact,  I  gathered  they 
didn't  put  it  beyond  me  to  shoot  myself  in  the  right  arm 
to  divert  suspicion.  Only  one  thing  saved  me:  Nelly 
had  thoughtfully  lost  her  handbag  outside  the  window, 
with  an  extra  clip  of  cartridges  in  it." 

"She  must  have  meant  to  make  sure  ...  I  mean, 
it  wasn't  an  affair  of  impulse,  then?" 

"Oh,  she'd  had  in  mind  what  she  meant  to  do  for  a 
long  time.  I  don't  know  how  long,  but  she  let  a  hint  fall 
the  other  night,  when  she'd  had  a  bit  more  drink  than  she 
needed,  and  I  spent  the  best  part  of  the  evening  trying  to 
talk  her  out  of  it.  She  fobbed  me  off  with  a  half-promise 
in  the  end ;  but  I  wasn't  satisfied.  And  tonight,  when  she 
wasn't  on  hand  to  keep  a  dinner  appointment,  and  one  of 
the  bellhops  told  me  he'd  seen  her  boarding  a  trolley  for 
Beverly  Hills  .  .  .Well:  my  chauffeur  says  we  broke 
all  existing  records,  getting  out  to  Summerlad's.  Why  we 
weren't  arrested  neither  of  us  knows.  Lucky  ..." 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  34& 

Bel's  words  trailed  off  into  a  thoughtful  mumble,  he 
seemed  momentarily  lost  in  study  of  the  rug  on  which  he 
stood,  then  roused  and  put  his  hand  to  the  door-knob. 

"If  it  matters,"  he  announced — "possibly  you'd  care  to 
know — we've  telegraphed  Summerlad's  people  in  his  home 

town,  Terre  Haute his  mother  and  sister.  The  family 

name  appears  to  be  Slade.  We  thought  he  ought  to  have 
them  with  him.  ..." 

"  'We'  ?" 

"Zinn  and  I." 

"You  told  Mr.  Zinn?" 

"Called  him  up  first  thing.  Naturally.  Nobody  had  a 
better  right  to  know  what  had  happened,  holding  Sum- 
merlad  under  contract  as  he  does.  He  came  right  out, 
calling  himself  bad  names  for  being  in  the  picture  busi- 
ness, and  took  charge.  It  was  mostly  thanks  to  him  I 
was  able  to  get  away  as  soon  as  I  did." 

"Does  he  know  the  full  story,  Bel  ?" 

"All  that  matters.  But  your  part's  still  a  dead  secret 
between  the  four  of  us — including  my  chauffeur  and 
Summerlad's  Jap.  I  think  those  two  have  been  well 
enough  paid  ...  It  remains  to  get  hold  of  your  man 
and  make  him  forget  he  drove  you  out  there  for  dinner 
and  didn't  bring  you  home.  If  you'll  give  me  his  ad- 
dress .  . 

"Perhaps  I  can  attend  to  that  better  than  you,  BeU 
without  making  it  necessary  to  explain  how  you  happen 
to  be  interested,  I  mean." 

"You  won't  forget?  This  affair  will  be  all  over  town 
before  morning." 

"I'll  call  Ben  up  at  his  home  as  soon  as  you've  gone." 

"Very  well,  then.  I  presume  that  brings  us  to  good- 
night." 

"But  Bel  ...  "  Bellamy  reclosed  the  door  and 
turned  back  with  weary  patience.  "About  that  poor 
girl  ...  " 

He  looked  startled.    "That  sounds  like  pity." 


350  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

"Can  one  think  of  her  in  any  other  spirit?  Have  you 
any  notion  what  will  happen  to  her?" 

"Nothing's  going  to  happen  to  her — if  I  can  find  her 
before  the  police  do." 

"You  don't  mean  you'd  help  her  get  away,  Bel  ?" 

"If  it  takes  every  dollar  I've  got  in  the  world.  Do  you 
realize  what  it  means  if  she's  caught  and  put  on  trial — 
either  for  murder  or  attempted  murder,  as  it  turns  out — in 
a  case  that's  going  to  get  the  publicity  this  is  bound  to? 
Do  you  imagine  it  will  be  possible  then  to  keep  your  name 
out  of  it?  She's  bound  to  tell  her  story  in  self-defense; 
and  inasmuch  as  she's  good-looking  enough  to  be  ac- 
quitted on  one  pretext  or  another,  in  all  probability,  the 
chances  are  in  another  six  months  she'll  be  starring  in  a 
film  based  on  a  re-hash  of  this  pretty  little  affair." 

"Then  you  will  help  me  ?    I  can  count  on  you,  Bel  ?" 

"Help  you?" 

"Help  get  her  away." 

Bellamy  started  excitedly.  "Mean  to  say  you  know 
where  Nelly  is?" 

"She's  here,  Bel.  She  came  straight  to  me,  half-mad 
with  anxiety  on  your  account.  It  seems  she's  grateful  to 
you  for  kindness " 

"And  you  didn't  throw  her  out  ?"  Bel  interrupted,  star- 
ing. 

"She  made  me  understand  .  .  .  And  she  was  so 
bewildered,  so  terrified  ...  I  couldn't  blame  her, 
Bel ;  and  I  couldn't  have  put  her  out  in  any  event." 

"In  there?"  Bellamy  nodded  toward  the  bedchamber 
and,  receiving  a  nod  in  reply,  strode  quickly  to  the  door 
and  threw  it  open. 

The  room  was  a  pocket  of  darkness  and,  when  the 
lights  had  been  turned  on,  proved  to  be  tenantless. 

The  nightly  breeze  from  the  hills  was  bellying  the  cur- 
tains at  one  of  the  windows  that  opened  on  the  street. 
Lucinda  ran  to  it  and  leaned  out. 

*No  sign  of  the  car  that  by  her  order  had  been  left  stand- 
Ing  before  the  side  door,  nearly  an  hour  since  .  .  . 


XLII 

LUCINDA  slept  that  night— and  that  she  slept  at  all 
crossed  her  presentiment — but  fitfully,  in  spells  of 
profound  and  wasting  lethargy  broken  by  wretched 
watches  of  half -waking  dread  under  the  dominion  of  the 
incubus  that  agonized  her  dreams,  that  phantasm  of  the 
land-bird  lost,  spending  its  slender  strength  against  the 
cruel  vasts  of  night  and  sea  and  storm  .  .  . 

Toward  morning  exhaustion  claimed  her  absolutely, 
sponging  out  every  care,  and  for  some  hours  her  slumbers 
were  unbroken.  But  she  woke  up  as  it  were  against  her 
will,  heavy  of  heart  and  without  sense  of  having  rested. 

Sluggish  resentment  crawled  in  her  mind,  that  she 
should  feel  so  worn  and  old  whose  first  moments  after 
sleep  were  as  a  rule  her  happiest,  when  she  would  lie 
serene,  luxuriating  in  whole  refreshment  and  with  normal 
optimism  very  like  a  child's  looking  forward  to  the  day, 
making  plans  to  fill  in  with  small  pleasures  every  hour 
that  wasn't  to  be  devoted  to  her  work. 

There  was  still  the  feel  of  immaturity  in  the  day,  the 
chilly  souvenir  of  night  which  so  frequently  renders  the 
mornings  of  Southern  California  sickly,  before  the  sun 
finds  strength  enough  to  burn  away  the  high  fog  that,  like 
a  thief  in  the  dark,  is  wont  to  steal  in  after  sundown  from 
the  sea. 

What,  then,  had  awakened  her  so  far  in  advance  of  the 
customary  hour? 

Something  hideous  and  hateful  skulking  like  a  torpid 
snake  in  the  shadows  beyond  the  threshold  of  conscious- 
ness, some  foul  shape  that  she  instinctively  shrank  from 
calling  up  ... 

351 


352  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

The  bedside  clock  struck  nine,  and  Lucinda  started  up 
in  a  flutter  excited  by  the 'thought  that  she  would  yet 
another  time  be  late  and  so  afford  fresh  reason  for  dis- 
sension with  her  director  .  .  .  then  sank  back  to  her 
pillow,  cringing  from  memories  that  came  trooping  in 
the  wake  of  the  reminder  that  she  was  to  know  no  more 
of  Barry  Nolan  in  her  life  .  .  . 

No  more  of  Nolan,  no  more  of  Nelly,  no  more  of  Lynn 
.  .  .  no  more  of  Love  .  .  . 

With  a  convulsive  movement  she  flung  over  in  the  bed 
and  lay  almost  prone,  her  face  snuggled  into  bare  arms 
whose  pure  lustre  lent  fire  to  the  crimson  that  glowed  in 
a  lunette  of  cheek,  the  one  ear  visible,  even  in  her  neck's 
sleek  loveliness. 

Things  that  Nelly  had  told  her,  resting  on  that  very 
bed,  plain  tales  of  the  life  that  Lynn  by  preference  had  led, 
related  in  the  flat  and  toneless  accents  of  emotional  pros- 
tration, therefore  the  more  likely  to  be  free  from  over- 
statement; things  Lynn  himself  had  owned  inadvertently 
or  injudiciously  at  the  urge  of  vanity  craving  greater 
prestige  in  her  sight;  things  that  she  knew  of  her  own 
experience  with  the  man,  little  circumstances  of  their 
association  that  had  threatened  its  harmony,  things  she 
hadn't  liked  and  wilfully  had  been  blind  to,  denied,  or 
disbelieved:  all  swam  up  from  the  deeps  of  memory  to 
float  like  scum  upon  the  surface  of  her  consciousness. 

Lonely  and  restless,  starving  for  affection  and  all  too 
eager  to  snatch  at  shadow  and  proclaim  it  substance,  self- 
dedicated  victim  of  a  ready-made  infatuation  .  .  . 

And  she  had  called  that  Love ! 

What  dishonor,  what  humiliation,  what  reproach! 

What  an  escape !  and  at  what  cost !  .  .  .  a  cost  not 
yet  all  paid,  and  which  if  she  would  she  might  not  pay 
alone,  but  must  see  others  pay  in  part  for  her,  Nelly  and 
Lynn  perhaps  with  their  lives,  Bel  too  in  his  way,  in  an- 
other way  Zinn  ...  all  called  upon  to  lay  down 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  353 

things  they  held  dear  that  she  might  have  her  lesson,  that 
she  might  learn  Love  is  never  lightly  to  be  won,  no,  nor 
put  by,  either  .  .  . 

In  the  room  adjoining  she  could  hear  her  maid  quietly 
moving  about,  tidying  up,  with  presently  a  chirrup  of  the 
telephone,  then  a  guarded  mumble  as  the  woman  an- 
swered. 

She  was  hanging  up  when  Lucinda,  dragging  on  a 
neglige,  flung  open  the  communicating  door. 

The  maid  said  Mr.  Zinn  had  called  up,  and  gaped  to 
see  Lucinda's  glance  grow  dull  and  the  spirit  of  her  en- 
trance pass  abruptly  into  apathy. 

Sinking  wearily  against  the  door-frame,  she  desired  to 
know  what  Zinn  had  wanted. 

"He  asked  if  you  was  up  yet,  ma'm,  and  when  I  told 
him  no,  he  said  it  didn't  matter,  would  I  kindly  take  the 
message,  he  couldn't  keep  his  date  with  you  to  look  at 
the  rushes  today,  and  maybe  not  tomorrow,  he'd  give  you 
a  ring  'safternoon  and  let  you  know." 

"Very  well,"  Lucinda  said  without  interest  .  .  . 
"I'll  have  my  bath,  please." 

Waiting  for  the  water  to  be  drawn,  she  wandered  to 
a  window.  The  high  fog  still  held  the  day  against  the 
sun,  a  dense,  cold  pall  of  grey,  as  flat  as  a  metal  plate, 
closing  out  the  blue,  closing  in  an  atmosphere  lifeless  and 
bleak. 

She  thought  of  Lynn  fighting  for  his  life,  perhaps  los- 
ing, perhaps  already  still  in  defeat. 

And  Nelly  ...  at  whose  fate  one  could  only 
guess  .  .  . 

She  recalled  that  bright  hour  of  sunset,  so  clear  and 
warm,  through  which  she  had  motored  in  gladness  toward 
his  arms  whom  she  had  called  her  beloved,  that  hour  in 
the  dread  light  of  this  so  weirdly  unreal,  so  inconceivably 
remote;  and  the  old,  embittered  plaint  of  Abdu-el-Yezdi 
found  a  melancholy  echo  in  her  heart: 


354  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

"Strange  that  Life's  Registrar  should  call 
That  day  a  day,  this  day  a  day."     .     .     . 

Bel  came  in  about  ten,  by  that  many  sleepless,  active, 
anxious  hours  more  jaded  than  when  she  had  seen  him 
last.  Road-dust  powdered  his  face  and  hands  and  lay 
caked  in  the  folds  of  his  coat,  and  he  carried  the  arm  in 
the  sling  with  more  open  confession  of  acute  distress. 
Lucinda  herself  opened  for  him,  and  he  met  her  eyes 
with  a  short  nod. 

"You've  found  her,  Bel?    Where?" 

He  glanced  round  the  room,  caught  sight  of  the  maid 
through  the  open  door  to  the  bedchamber,  and  indi- 
cated her  with  a  brusque  jerk  of  his  head. 

Lucinda  called  the  woman.  "You've  had  no  break- 
fast?" she  added. 

"No  time.    Been  on  the  road  all  night.    Just  got  in." 

"Let  me  order  you  something     ..." 

"Well  ...  I  would  be  glad  of  a  cup  of  coffee — 
nothing  else,  thanks." 

Lucinda  sent  the  maid  on  the  errand,  and  as  soon  as 
they  were  alone  gave  intuition  voice:  "Bel:  something 
has  happened  to  her  ?  she's  dead  ?" 

With  a  weary  nod,  Bel  dropped  into  a  chair.  "We  got 
as  far  as  Santa  Barbara  without  picking  up  a  sign,"  he 
said.  "It  was  getting  daylight  then,  and  I  made  up  my 
mind  we'd  taken  the  wrong  road,  that  Nelly  had  lied  or 
changed  her  mind  about  the  way  she  meant  to  go.  But 
she  hadn't.  When  we  turned  back  we  found  her  .  .  . 
what  had  been  her  ..." 

He  bent  forward  with  his  sound  elbow  on  his  knee, 
covering  his  eyes  as  if  to  hide  their  reminiscent  horror. 

"There  had  been  an  accident?" 

"She  ran  your  car  off  the  road  at  a  turn  and  over  a 
low  cliff  to  a  rocky  beach.  Must  have  been  killed  in- 
stantly. If  so,  it  was  a  mercy,  for  nobody  had  noticed 
the  wreck  till  a  few  minutes  before  we  turned  up.  I 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  355 

happened  to  catch  sight  of  the  crowd  on  the  beach  and 
made  my  chauffeur  stop  .  .  .  ' 

He  didn't  look  up,  and  neither  spoke  again  till  the 
maid  returned.  Then  Lucinda  made  another  pretext  to 
get  rid  of  her  for  another  while,  apparently  to  her  con- 
siderable annoyance. 

"How  much  does  she  know?"  Bellamy  asked,  as  the 
woman  took  herself  off  with  an  aggrieved  flounce. 

"There's  been  nothing  for  her  to  know,  Bel,"  Lucinda 
returned  without  resentment. 

"I  didn't  mean  ...  I  was  merely  wondering  if 
she  knew  where  you  were  expecting  to  dine  last  night. 
She  must  have  helped  you  dress." 

"I  don't  recall  saying     ..." 

"Better  give  her  a  good  present  and  make  her  under- 
stand a  tight  mouth  pays." 

"Very  well." 

Bel  sipped  his  coffee,  frowning.  "Heard  anything 
from  your  friends  the  Lontaines  this  morning?" 

"Not  yet.  Fanny  will  call  up,  of  course,  or  come 
round  to  see  me  as  soon  as  she  hears." 

"Risky  to  wait.  Better  get  hold  of  her  at  once,  let  her 
hear  about  this  business  first  of  all  from  you,  and  tell 
her  she's  got  to  protect  you  if  she  has  to  lie  like  Sap- 
phira." 

"But  surely  we  can  count  on  Fanny's  discretion !" 

"Can  we?"  Bel's  grin  was  skeptical.  "I'm  not  so  sure. 
Nolan  knew  last  night  you'd  been  due  at  Summerlad's 
for  dinner.  Told  Zinn  he  had  his  information  from  Mrs. 
Lontaine." 

"Barry  Nolan!     I  don't  understand     ..." 

"Only  know  what  Nolan  told  Zinn.  Stopped  in  at  the 
studio  just  now,  saw  Zinn  for  a  few  minutes.  .  .  . 
By  the  way" — Bel's  manner  was  studiously  casual — "it 
may  interest  you  to  know,  the  latest  reports  say  Summer- 
lad's  holding  his  own." 

"I  am  glad,"  Lucinda  said  simply.     And  Bel's  eyes 


356  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

wavered  under  her  level  regard,  lightly  charged  as  it  was 
with  contempt.  "You  were  telling  me  about 
Nolan  ..." 

"Zinn  says  he  telephoned  all  over  Los  Angeles  last 
night  trying  to  locate  Nolan — because  he  and  Summerlad 
had  always  been  so  close — but  had  no  luck  till  about  three 
this  morning,  when  Nolan  got  home  and  found  Zinn's 
message  waiting  for  him.  Then  he  hurried  over  to  the 
bungalow — with  at  least  three  sheets  in  the  wind,  accord- 
ing to  Zinn — and  the  first  question  he  asked  was  where 
you'd  been  when  the  shooting  took  place.  Zinn  swore 
you  hadn't  been  there,  and  the  Jap  backed  him  up  nobly 
.  .  .  But  there  you  are,  if  you're  asking  for  proof 
that  your  friend  Fanny  tells  everything  she  knows." 

Lucinda  coloured  resentfully.  "I  am  sure,"  she  in- 
sisted, "Fanny  never  dreamed  of  hurting  me  when  she 
told  Mr.  Nolan — whatever  it  was  she  did  tell  him.  But 
it's  easy  enough  to  find  out  ..." 

She  took  up  the  telephone,  but  had  to  wait,  receiver  at 
ear,  several  minutes  before  the  Lontaine's  number  an- 
swered. Then  a  voice  with  a  drowsy  sound,  like  a  tired 
and  husky  imitation  of  Fanny's:  "Yes?  Hello!  who  is 
it?"  And  when  Lucinda  made  herself  known  a  brief 
stammer  prefaced  a  shift  to  honeyed  accents:  "Oh!  is  it 
you,  Cindy  darling?  Heavens!  what  time  is  it?" 

Lucinda  named  the  hour,  heard  Fanny  give  a  smothered 
exclamation,  and  added :  "Did  I  wake  you  up  ?" 

"I  was  simply  dead  to  the  world  when  the  telephone 
rang,"  Fanny  declared  with  an  equivocal  giggle.  "The 
poor  dear  eyes  are  hardly  open  even  now." 

"I'm  so  sorry,  dear.  I  supposed  of  course  .  .  . 
Is  Harry  there?" 

The  reply  came  readily  and  without  suggestion  of  un- 
certainty: "Why,  no,  darling:  he  isn't." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Quite " 

"I  mean,"  Lucinda  persisted,  in  some  perplexity,  "if 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  357 

you've  just  waked  up,  you've  hardly  had  time  to  find 
out." 

"Oh!"  Fanny  interrupted  herself  with  an  uneasy 
laugh.  "Oh,  but  I  know  he  isn't !  I  ...  he  ... 
I  mean  to  say,  darling,  Harry  must  have  gone  out  quite 
early.  I  mean  .  .  .  O  dear !"  An  audible  yawn  and 
then  an  apologetic  noise.  "I'm  simply  drugged  with 
sleepiness,  Cindy.  What  I'm  trying  to  say  is,  I  was 
awake  when  Harry  left  the  house,  but  went  to  sleep 
again.  Have  you  tried  the  studio?  If  he  isn't  there,  I'm 
sure  I  haven't  the  remotest  notion  where  he  can  be." 
Then  with  a  quite  unmistakable  accent  of  apprehension: 
"Why,  darling?  is  something  the  matter?" 

"I'll  explain  when  I  see  you,"  Lucinda  temporized — 
"if  you  wouldn't  mind  running  round  to  the  hotel  when 
you've  had  your  breakfast." 

"Mind,  darling!  I'll  simply  fly  into  my  clothes,  be 
there  in  no  time  at  all." 

The  meditative  expression  with  which  Lucinda  put 
the  telephone  aside  drew  from  Bellamy  the  direct  ques- 
tion: What  had  Fanny  said? 

"It  wasn't  what  she  said,  it  was  the  funny,  embarrassed 
way  she  said  it.  As  a  general  thing,  Fanny's  as  trans- 
parently candid  as — as  a  plate  of  glass." 

Bellamy  made  a  doubting  mouth.  "You're  pretty  thick, 
you  two,"  he  supposed — "you  tell  her  everything?" 

Irritation  in  a  gust  shook  Lucinda  till  her  voice  shook 
in  sympathy. 

"Really,  Bel!  you  seem  fairly  possessed  by  desire  to 
believe  my  life  out  here  full  of  things  an  honest  woman 
would  want  to  hide." 

"No,"  Bellamy  dissented  slowly.  "But  I  do  seriously 
believe — in  fact,  know — you  haven't  always  been  alto- 
gether discreet,  you've  done  things  here,  without  a  mo- 
ment's thought,  you'd  have  hesitated  a  long  time  before 
committing  yourself  to  at  home." 

"You  forget  this  is  now  my  home.    What  Fifth  Avenue 


358  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

holds  inconvenable  isn't  anything  to  bother  about  on  Sun- 
set Boulevard." 

"Well  ...  if  life  has  taught  me  anything,  Linda, 
it  is  that  it  never  does  to  trust  too  much  to  the  good  will 
of  one's  friends.  We're  all  too  exclusively  creatures  of 
selfishness:  self  always  comes  before  the  claims  others 
may  have  or  impose  on  us.  It  pleases  us  no  end  to  be- 
lieve our  friends  so  devoted  that  they'd  put  our  interests 
before  their  own;  but  when  the  test  comes,  as  a  general 
thing,  we  find  out  we've  been  self-deluded." 

"How  funny,  Bel:  you  philosophizing!" 

"That  isn't  philosophy,  it's  common  sense  based  on 
observation  of  the  underside  of  human  nature.  .  .  . 
I'm  not  blaming  you  for  clinging  to  your  friends,  or 
standing  up  for  them,  I'm  only  anxious  you  shan't  suffer 
from  finding  them  out." 

"I  fancy  I  know  Fanny,  at  least,"  Lucinda  retorted 
severely. 

"You  think  you  do.  And  I  don't  dispute  your  superior 
knowledge  of  every  side  of  her  but  one,  the  side  she 
shows  only  to  the  men  she  picks  out  to  flirt  with." 

"For  example,  yourself." 

"Exactly." 

Lucinda  openly  enjoyed  an  instant  of  malicious  amuse- 
ment. "Do  you  really  believe  you're  learning  to  see 
through  women  at  last,  Bel?" 

"You'll  admit  I've  served  a  long  apprenticeship" — Bel- 
lamy gave  a  deprecating  grunt — "enough  to  have 
learned  something." 

"And  now  you're  warning  me  against  the  wiles  of  my 
best  friend  I" 

"I'm  warning  you  against  all  such  adventurers  .  .  . 
Oh,  yes!  the  Lontaines  are  just  that,  both  of  them. 
Chances  are  they  haven't  got  a  dollar  between  them  they 
didn't  get  from  you.  Neither  did  Mrs.  Fanny  set  her  cap 
for  me  just  to  keep  in  practice,  she  gets  enough  of  that 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  359 

in  other  quarters.  No:  she  had  another  motive,  and  it 
wasn't  any  way  altruistic." 

"What  was  it,  then?" 

"Think  I  can  leave  that  to  your  intelligence.  I've  never 
noticed  you  were — one  might  say — dense  concerning  the 
psychology  of  your  sex,  Linda." 

Indignation  threatened  to  find  expression  in  a  rush  of 
tears,  but  Lucinda  winked  them  back. 

"I  do  wish  you  wouldn't  try  to  make  me  angry  with 
you " 

"I'm  only  trying  to  tell  you,  one  can't  afford  to  trust 
anybody  in  this  world  except  those  who  have  nothing  to 
gain  through  cultivating  one's  friendship." 

" — Just  now,  when  I've  so  much  to  be  grateful  to  you 
for,  when  you're  doing — have  done  so  much  to  save  me 
from  the  consequences  of  my  folly " 

"Ah !  you  realize  that." 

"Both  my  folly" — Lucinda  nodded  gravely — "and  all 
you're  doing  to  repair  it.  So  this  once  I  won't  resent  your 
calling  my  friends  adventurers." 

Bel  chuckled  as  he  got  up.  "Because  you  know  in  your 
heart  that's  what  they  are,  neither  more  nor  less.  .  .  ^ 
Think  I'll  be  getting  along  now.  I  want  sleep  badly,  and 
I  must  stop  in  at  the  studio  first  and  have  a  word  with 
Lontaine,  if  he's  there.  And  then  I  need  Nolan's  ad- 
dress." 

"You're  going  to  see  him.    Do  you  think  that  wise?" 

"I  won't  permit  him  to  spread  gossip  about  your  being 
with  Summerlad  last  night." 

"Do  you  think  he'll  admit  your  right  to  dictate?" 

"I  don't  imagine  it  will  be  news  to  him  that  you're  my 
wife,  if  that's  what  you  m6an.  Your  friend  the  actor 
seems  to  have  been  tolerably  busy  crowing  about  his  con- 
quest of  Mrs.  Bellamy  Druce — always,  of  course,  in 
strictest  confidence.  Zinn  knew  all  about  you  before  I 
appeared  on  the  scene.  And  Nolan  was  Summerlad's 
bosom  pal  ..." 


360  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

The  thrust  told  shrewdly,  rewarding  Bel  with  a  fugi- 
tive moment  of  sardonic  satisfaction.  Then  the  courage 
with  which  Lucinda  took  punishment  exacted  his  admira- 
tion. 

"But  I'm  afraid,"  she  said  quietly,  "you  won't  have 
much  success  with  Nolan,  even  if  he  does  recognize  your 
right  to  interfere." 

"How  so?" 

"He  has  too  little  reason  to  feel  well-disposed  to- 
ward me." 

"On  account  of  your  quarrel  with  him  yester- 
day ...  " 

"I  didn't  know  you  knew." 

"Who  in  Hollywood  doesn't,  do  you  suppose?"  Bel 
snorted.  "Gossip  travels  like  grass  fire,  out  here.  I  heard 
five  different  versions  yesterday,  myself,  before  your 
cameraman  told  mine  what  I  imagine  was  the  approximate 
truth." 

"Then  I  presume  you  know,  as  well,  about  my  new  ar- 
rangement, with  Mr.  Zinn  taking  over  the  production  ?" 

"Yes?" 

The  single  syllable  of  assent  carried  the  rising  inflexion 
of  enquiry  as  well.  Lucinda  mildly  curious,  replied  that 
she  had  merely  been  wondering  .  .  . 

"Well,  I'm  wondering,  too,"  Bel  countered,  eyeing  her 
intently.  "Of  course  you  understand  that  arrangement's 
not  necessarily  to  be  considered  binding  till  you've 
signed  up." 

"We  shook  hands  on  it,"  said  Lucinda:  "I  gave  Mr. 
Zinn  my  word.  Why?" 

"Oh,  nothing;  unless  what's  happened  since  has  had 
some  effect  on  your  attitude,  I  mean,  made  your  bargain 
with  Zinn  seem  less  desirable.  In  that  case,  of  course, 
I'll  be  glad  to  use  whatever  influence  I  may  have  with 
him  ...  " 

The  tensing  of  her  body  betrayed  the  temper  in  which 
Lucinda  met  his  suggestion.  "What  you  really  mean  is: 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  361 

Have  I  changed  my  mind  about  continuing  in  pictures, 
because  of  this  dreadful  accident  to  Lynn?" 

Bel's  eyes  and  mouth  tightened.  "It's  not  an  unnatural 
supposition,  that  you  may  have  concluded  you've  had 
enough." 

"Enough,  Bel?" 

"Of  both     ..." 

"That  can't  be  anything  but  calculated  impertinence!" 

"Call  it  what  you  like.  Nothing  I  could  say  would  con- 
vince you  to  the  contrary.  Does  it  matter?" 

"Then  your  suggestion  doesn't  deserve  my  notice." 

"In  that  event" — Bel  smiled  in  a  knowing  fashion  diffi- 
cult to  tolerate — "I've  got  my  answer,  plain  enough: 
you're  bent  on  going  on." 

"Have  you  any  objection?" 

"If  I  thought  my  views  had  any  weight  with  you  I 
might  be  tempted  to  tell  you." 

"You'd  waste  your  time — if  you  think  I  don't  know 
what  you'd  say." 

His  brows  circumflexed  a  mocking :  "So  ?" 

"You  want  me  to  give  it  up." 

"Well" — he  stressed  a  shrug — "one  would  think  you'd 
seen  enough  of  this  sort  of  thing  to  satisfy  even  your 
curiosity." 

"You  think  I  had  no  other  motive?" 

"Plus  gratification  of  your  vanity — the  inevitable  factor 
in  every  human  equation." 

"You  don't  believe  my  work  means  anything  to  me  for 
its  own  sake?" 

"Are  you  asking  me  to  believe  you  consider  this  a  life 
worth  while?  Or  that  any  success  it  may  purchase 
is  worth  the  sacrifice?" 

"What  sacrifice,  pray?" 

"Of  the  woman  you  might  yet  be,  if  you'd  give  up  this 
nonsense." 

"I  think  you  must  mean  the  woman  I  might  have  been 
before  your  conduct  killed  her  in  me  1" 


362  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

Bel  made  a  wry  face  as  he  stooped  to  pick  up  his  motor- 
coat.  "This  conversation  is  degenerating  into  a  wrangle 
in  which  I  have  the  traditional  chance  a  snowball  has  in 
the  place  where  motion-pictures  were  spawned.  A  hus- 
band, even  a  deserted  one,  is  always  in  the  wrong  .  .  . 
Mind  lending  me  a  hand,  Linda?  Can't  quite  manage 
this  with  one  arm." 

At  once  angrily  and  gently  Lucinda  draped  the  motor- 
coat  over  his  shoulders.  "Generalizing  on  the  hardships 
of  husbands,"  she  suggested  sweetly,  "is  hardly  an  ex- 
cuse for  making  it  your  specialty  to  be  always  in  the 
wrong." 

"I  feel  that,  you  know."  Bel  replied  with  lips  that 
twitched — "feel  it  like  everything  .  .  .  I'm  to  un- 
derstand, then,  my  wishes  mean  nothing  to  you?" 

Lucinda  gave  a  little,  silent  laugh,  and  in  silence  for 
a  moment  gazed  on  Bellamy,  her  eyes  unreadable.  Nor 
was  there  the  hostility  he  had  expected  in  the  tone  in 
which  she  asked :  "Have  you  any  reason  to  advance,  why 
your  wishes  should  influence  me?" 

"If  you  know  of  none,  Linda — no." 

"I  know  of  nothing  that  counterweighs  the  persecu- 
tion you've  been  subjecting  me  to,  ever  since  you  found 
out  where  I  was  hiding  from  you — persecution  that  ended 
last  night  in  a  tragedy.  I  can't  forget  that,  if  you  hadn't 
bribed  that  unfortunate  girl  to  come  back " 

"If  I  hadn't!"  Bel  interrupted— "and  God  knows  I 
regret  what  came  of  that  as  bitterly  as  anybody! — if  I 
hadn't  brought  Nelly  back  here,  you  might  still  be  playing 
fast  and  loose  with  Summerlad's  ambition  to  make  you 
his  mistress.  Got  anything  to  say  to  that?  You  know 
now,  at  least,  he  never  intended  anything  else.  And  yet, 
if  looks  could  kill,  you'd  strike  me  dead  where  I  stand  for 
having  presumed  to  be  as  wise  in  advance  as  you've  been 
made  by  the  event !  And  because  I  made  the  mistake  of 
trying  to  stage-manage  things  so  you  would  presently  find 
out  for  yourself  what  a  rotter  you  were  throwing  your- 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  363- 

self  away  on,  instead  of  chancing  your  deeper  hatred  by 
telling  you  outright  what  every  other  soul  in  Holly- 
wood knew — running  the  risk  of  seeing  you  go  straight  to 
his  arms  to  prove  your  indifference  to  me — because  of 
that  error  of  judgment  you'll  see  me  damned  before  you'll 
give  up  a  mode  of  life  for  which  you're  about  as  well 
fitted  as — as  I  am  for  that  of  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven !" 

"You  forget,  what  I  don't,  Bel,"  Lucinda  said  slowly, 
"that  it  was  you  who  made  the  mode  of  life  with  which  I 
was  content  impossible  for  me.  If  this  life  I've  taken 
up  here  is  in  some  sense  a  makeshift,  it's  all  I've  got  to 
take  the  place  of  all  I  had.  And  now  you'd  rob  me  even 
of  it!  And  one  thing  more  you  forget:  If  I  should  give 
in  to  your  wishes  and  leave  Hollywood  today,  I  would 
only  be  doing  what  you  say  you  want  to  prevent,  con- 
fessing by  flight  that  my  only  real  interest  in  my  picture 
work  was  my  greater  interest  in  Lynn  Summerlad.  For 
that  reason  alone — and  not,  as  you  believe,  to  spite  you — 
I've  got  to  and  I'm  going  to  go  on  to  the  end  of  this  pres- 
ent production  at  least.  After  that  ...  I  don't 
know  ..." 

Discountenanced,  "I  hadn't  thought  of  that,"  Bel  owned 
squarely.  "You  may  be  right  ..." 

"I  am;  but  even  if  I  weren't,  it  wouldn't  be  any  use 
your  trying  to  force  me  to  forego  my  chance  at  a  career  in 
pictures  just  to  get  rid  of  you.  Believe  me,  Bel,  it's  no 
good.  Give  it  up,  give  up  this  producing  blind — I  know 
it's  only  a  blind — and  go  back  where  you  belong.  And 
leave  me  to  do  my  best  with  what  I  have — with  what 
you've  left  of  my  happiness.  And  remember  you  ha '/e 
my  faithful  promise  to  set  you  free  as  soon  as  the  courts 
will  grant  me  a  divorce." 

"That's  your  last  word,  Linda?" 

"My  last  word  to  you,  Bel — I  hope." 

He  hesitated,  the  muscles  of  his  face  working  be- 
neath its  day-old  stubble;  and  for  a  moment,  reading 
truly  or  mistakenly  the  look  in  his  eyes,  from  which 


364  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

all  anger  had  died  out,  Lucinda  was  in  deadly  fear  lest 
he  were  on  the  verge  of  making  one  last  appeal  in  an- 
other key,  one  which  she  was,  in  that  time  of  emotions, 
ill-prepared  to  deal  with. 

Then  flinging  out  his  hand  in  the  salute  of  the  van- 
quished, Bel  bowed  and,  whirling  on  a  heel,  left  her — 
left  Lucinda  for  once  at  a  loss,  intuition  inextricably 
hobbled  by  a  mat  of  doubts. 


XLIII 

how  long  she  was  never  quite  sure  Lucinda  re- 
mained  rooted  in  that  moment,  unseeing  gaze  stead- 
fast to  that  door  whose  closing  had  been  synchronous 
with  the  opening  of  another  upon  her  understanding,  to 
let  in  light,  a  revelation  blinding  and  arrestive,  upon  the 
mirk  of  her  distraction — that  failure  of  self-confidence 
and  determination  which  had  come  with  realization, 
for  the  first  time  in  her  history,  of  inability  to  read  her 
own  heart  and  mind  and  guide  her  steps  by  such  self- 
knowledge. 

Thus  posed  she  was  found  when  Fanny,  weary  of 
knocking  and  getting  no  response,  without  more  ceremony 
drifted  in,  a  vision  fair  of  impudent  innocence  in  dainty 
organdie,  the  ravages  of  "oversleeping"  perceptible  in 
dim  blue  stains  beneath  eyes  the  more  alluring  for  such 
underscoring;  and  with  a  start  and  a  cry  of  solicitude 
perhaps  a  thought  theatrical,  convincing  enough  for  all 
that,  dropped  parasol  and  handbag  and  ran  to  strain 
Lucinda  tenderly  to  her  bosom  of  an  adolescent. 

"You  poor,  dear  darling !"  she  cooed — "no  wonder  you 
sounded  so  troubled  over  the  telephone — and  so  sad!  I 
couldn't  imagine  .  .  .  Why  didn't  you  tell  me?" 

"How  did  you  hear?"  Lucinda  evaded,  gently  ex- 
tricating herself  to  disguise  distaste  for  the  sickly-sweet 
fragrance  of  Fanny's  breath.  "Who  told  you?" 

"The  papers,  dearest:  haven't  you  seen  them?"  Lu- 
cinda fell  back  a  step,  clasping  her  hands  in  sharp  dis- 
may: she  had  never  once  thought  of  the  newspapers. 
"Screaming  headlines  on  every  page :  one  would  think 
Lynn,  poor  dear!  was  the  President  of  the  United  States 
365 


366  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

lying  at  point  of  death  from  an  assassin's  bullet  .  .  . 
But  what  a  frightful  experience  for  you !" 

"It  was  a  shock,"  Lucinda  assented  in  a  murmur. 
Without  conscious  volition  she  found  herself  moving 
away  to  a  window,  as  if  to  hide  her  emotion.  "When  I 
heard  .  .  .  "  In  private  amazement  she  heard  her 
voice  break;  and  touching  a  handkerchief  to  her  lips, 
said  no  more. 

"Heard !  but  you  were  there,  weren't  you,  when  it 
happened  ?" 

Still  acting  as  if  in  deference  to  an  authority  outside 
herself,  Lucinda,  without  withdrawing  her  gaze  from  the 
street — now  basking  in  the  calm  gold  of  the  belated  sun — 
deliberately  shook  her  head. 

"When  I  found  you  and  Harry  weren't  coming,"  she 
said — "I  mean,  when  Lynn  told  me  what  you  had  tele- 
phoned, I  came  away.  I  thought  it  best,  everything 
considered." 

"Oh,  how  fortunate!" 

But  there  was  in  that  exclamation  an  undertone  of 
disbelief  clear  enough  to  untrusting  ears.  And  of  a  sud- 
den Lucinda,  while  continuing  to  view  with  astonish- 
ment her  duplicity,  all  unpremeditated  as  it  had  been,  no 
more  regretted  it. 

"Fortunate?"  she  breathed.  "I  don't  know  .  .  . 
perhaps  ..." 

Now  too  thoroughly  enmeshed  in  tissue  of  involuntary 
falsehoods  to  extricate  herself  without  confession,  she 
collected  her  wits  to  deal  with  Fanny's  breathlessly  vollied 
questions ;  and  found  curious  gratification  in  matching  the 
texture  of  fact  with  strand  after  strand  of  fabrication, 
till  at  length  the  stuff  of  lies  was  woven  in  with  and  not 
to  be  distinguished  from  that  of  the  truth.  Mixed  with 
which  feeling  was  a  sort  of  dull  and  angry  wonder  at 
herself,  that  she  should  be  doing  something  so  foreign 
to  her  every  instinct,  lying  with  such  shameless  artistry 
to  the  one  true  friend  she  had  saved  from  the  shipwreck 


LINDA  LEE  INC.  367 

of  her  old  life— and  this  at  the  behest  of  the  man  who 
alone  had  been  responsible  for  that  disaster. 

She  had  no  more  than  reached  home  (she  told 
Fanny)  after  refusing  to  stop  at  the  bungalow  for  din- 
ner alone  with  Summerlad,  when  Bel  telephoned  to  tell 
her  what  had  happened.  Suspicious  of  Nelly's  temper 
for  days,  Bel,  upon  her  failure  to  keep  a  dinner  engage- 
ment with  him,  had  traced  her  to  Beverly  Hills,  arriving 
just  too  late,  if  in  time  to  be  shot  in  the  arm  by  Nelly 
when  he  tried  to  prevent  her  escape. 

Determined  to  see  Summerlad — not  as  yet  compre- 
hending the  whole  truth  concerning  his  relationship  to 
Nelly — Lucinda  had  instructed  her  chauffeur  to  leave 
her  car  at  the  side  door  of  the  Hollywood;  meaning  to 
drive  secretly  to  Beverly  Hills.  But  this  she  couldn't 
do  till  Bel  kept  his  promise  to  call  and  give  her  all  de- 
tails. It  was  while  they  were  talking  that  the  car  had 
disappeared.  Bel  had  promptly  reported  the  theft  to 
the  police,  and  that  morning  had  called  to  tell  Lucinda 
how  sharp  work  had  trailed  it  north  along  the  Coastal 
Highway  to  the  scene  of  Nelly's  death  .  .  .  Accident 
or  suicide,  who  could  say?  .  .  . 

At  the  same  time  Bel  had  begged  her  to  make  sure  of 
Fanny's  silence  in  respect  of  the  aborted  dinner  party.  It 
was  unnecessary  that  Lucinda's  name  should  be  dragged 
into  the  case  in  any  way,  if  it  were  she  could  hardly  hope 
to  come  through  with  her  incognita  intact.  She  felt  that 
she  owed  Bel  that  much  consideration;  it  wasn't  his 
fault  she  was  still  his  wife.  Not  that  she  herself  had  any 
wish  to  court  publicity  in  connection  with  the  af- 
fair .  .  . 

"But  of  course,  darling!  you  know  you  can  depend 
on  me." 

"I  know ;  but  I  had  to  be  sure.  You  see,  you  told  Mr. 
Nolan  last  night  I  was  due  at  the  bungalow  for  dinner." 

"But  Cindy !"  Fanny's  wide  eyes  were  a  child's  for  can- 
dour— "that  was  before  I  knew  there  was  any  reason 


368  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

.  .  .  Mr.  Nolan  called  up  about  nine,  said  he  wanted 
to  talk  to  Harry;  and  when  I  told  him  Harry  was  away 
on  business  (that  was  a  lie — tell  you  presently)  he 
guessed  that  Harry  had  come  here  to  see  you,  and  said 
he'd  try  to  get  in  touch  with  him  here.  So  I  told  him  I 
believed  you  were  dining  out  with  Lynn;  we'd  all  been 
invited,  but  Harry  found  he  couldn't  make  it,  at  the  last 
moment,  so  we  begged  off.  That's  how  it  happened." 

"I  fancied  it  was  something  like  that,"  Lucinda  com- 
mented, unsuspiciously  enough  but  in  a  thoughtful  tone 
open  to  misconstruction  by  an  inquiet  conscience. 

"But  surely  you  don't  doubt  my  word,  Cindy!" 

"Why  should  I,  dear?"  Lucinda  asked,  smiling;  and 
pausing  in  her  restless,  aimless  circling  of  the  room  she 
dropped  an  affectionate  hand  on  Fanny's  shoulder.  "What 
a  silly  notion !" 

Fanny  cuddled  the  hand  to  her  cheek.  "Forgive  me, 
dear:  I  don't  know  why  I  said  that.  I  suppose  it's  be- 
cause I'm  as  much  upset  about  my  own  affairs  as  you  are 
about  yours,  Cindy — most  of  all  about  this  shocking 
business,  of  course,  and  so  sorry  for  you,  dear " 

"Don't  be  sorry  for  me."  Lucinda's  fingers  tightened 
on  Fanny's.  Be  glad  I've  learned  a  good  lesson  and  had 
a  fortunate  escape.  I  ought  to  be  glad  the  hurt's  no 
worse  ..." 

"Poor  darling!  you  were  fearfully  fond  of  Lynn, 
weren't  you?" 

"Was  I  ?  I've  been  wondering.  In  love  with  Lynn, 
or  just  in  love  with  Love:  which?  I'm  afraid  the  shock 
of  it  all  is  too  new  for  me  to  be  sure  as  yet,  but  .  .  . 
Oh,  I'm  sorry  for  Lynn,  of  course !  but  only  as  one  would 
be  for  any  acquaintance  who  was  in  pain  and  at  death's 
door.  But  in  the  light  of  what  I  know  now,  of  how 
Lynn  lied  to  me,  and  how  shamefully  he  treated  that  poor 
creature  he  married,  it  seems  impossible  I  could  ever 
have  been  in  love,  actually  in  love  with  such  a  man. 
...  In  love  with  being  loved,  yes,  I'm  afraid  I 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  369 

shall  never  get  better  of  that  weakness ;  and  so  absurdly 
conscious  that  Lynn  Summerlad,  the  great  lover,  had 
chosen  me,  I  never  stopped  to  consider  him  in  comparison 
with  other  men.  But  I  don't  think  I  was  in  love  with 
Lynn.  .  .  .  Or  am  I  sincere?  is  what  I'm  saying  just 
sophistry  to  salve  my  poor,  sore  vanity  ?" 

She  laughed  consciously,  then  in  swift  variation  of 
mood  added  a  pensive,  wistful  note:  "Fanny:  Bel  loves 
me  ..." 

The  countenance  turned  up  to  hers  was  quick  with 
mirth:  Fanny  started  to  speak,  gurgled  rapturously,  and 
broke  down  in  laughter  so  infectious  that  Lucinda  could 
not  but  respond,  if  ruefully. 

"You  great  goose!  if  that's  news  to  you,  it's  news  to 
no  one  else." 

"It  is  to  me."  Lucinda  sobered.  "Daresay  I  might 
have  guessed  if  I'd  been  a  wiser  woman,  but  I  wasn't, 
not  till  just  now,  when  Bel  was  going  away,  after  a 
wretched  little  squabble.  Then  something,  I'm  sure  I 
don't  know  what  ..." 

"I  could  have  told  you  long  ago,  sweetest;  in  fact, 
I  was  only  awaiting  the  right  moment.  I've  been  sound- 
ing Bel  out,  you  may  have  noticed.  There  isn't  anything 
one  can  teach  him  about  flirting,  Cindy,  all  the  same 
there's  only  one  woman  in  the  world  Bel  can  see." 

"I'm  sure  of  that,"  Lucinda  agreed  .  .  .  "just 
now." 

"Cindy!"  Fanny  insisted,  tugging  at  her  hand — "tell 
me  something — " 

"Very  well,  dear.  No :  I  shan't  give  Bel  another  chance. 
I'm  not  in  love  with  him  at  all,  and  I  dare  not  run  the 
risk  of  falling  in  love  with  him  again,  I  daren't  risk 
going  mad  with  happiness,  as  I  should  if  what  once 
was  could  be  again  .  .  .  and  then  having  to  live 
through  all  the  misery  of  breaking  with  him  another  time." 

"But  surely — if  he  promised  faithfully " 

"The  promises  men  make  to  win  us,  Fanny,  are  not  the 


370  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

sort  that  they  know  how  to  keep.  It's  always  what  they 
can't  have  they  want  most.  Give  them  all  they  ask  to- 
day, and  tonight  they'll  lie  awake  longing  for  the  things 
they've  forsworn.  The  only  woman  who  could  hold  Bel 
to  his  good  behaviour  would  be  one  who  could  keep  him 
guessing.  I'm  not  that  woman,  I  can't  pretend,  with  me 
it's  all  or  nothing — always !" 

"Poor  lamb !"  Fanny  drew  her  down  to  sit  on  the  arm 
of  the  chair  and  nestled  her  frivolous,  fair  head  upon 
Lucinda's  bosom.  "You  have  such  desperate  troubles, 
I'm  ashamed  to  tell  you  my  own  ..." 

"Your  own,  Fanny?" 

"We're  both  in  the  same  boat,  Cindy,"  Fanny  lamented 
— "two  lorn  women  this  very  day  as  ever  was !  Harry 
has  left  me  ...  flat!" 

"Fanny !"  Lucinda  caught  the  girl's  face  between  tender 
hands  and  looked  incredulously  into  its  swimming  eyes. 
"You're  not  joking?" 

"Divvle  the  joke's  in  me  the  day,"  Fanny  declared 
between  gulps,  dabbling  her  tears  with  a  handkerchief. 
"I  didn't  want  to  tell  you,  when  you  had  so  much  else  to 
worry  you,  but  I'm  afraid  you've  got  to  know.  Be- 
cause, you  see,  you're  mixed  up  in  it,  too." 

"I !  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Well,  Harry  and  I  haven't  been  happy  together  for 
ever  so  long.  Love  with  us  you  know,  was  rather  a 
flash  in  the  pan.  Last  night  we  had  a  scene,  I  mean  an- 
other scene — forget  the  serial  number.  When  I  went 
home  I  found  him  trying  to  drink  himself  to  death.  He 
was  half  out  of  his  head,  and  wouldn't  tell  me  why.  But 
I  had  a  suspicion  and  wormed  it  out  of  him  finally :  he's 
been  speculating  with  the  company's  money,  your  money, 
Cindy;  and,  now,  with  Zinn  taking  over  the  production, 
his  shortage  is  sure  to  be  found  out.  I  couldn't  make 
him  say  how  much  it  was,  but  there's  no  question,  it 
will  run  into  a  good  sum.  Well :  I  promised  to  intercede 
with  you,  and  managed  to  quiet  him  down  and  get  him  to 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  371 

bed.  Next  thing  I  knew  he  was  in  the  bathroom,  trying 
to  cut  his  throat.  Then  I  hid  his  razors  and  let  him 
go  back  to  his  whiskey,  hoping  he'd  drink  himself 
asleep.  And  presently  he  did.  At  least,  he  seemed  to. 
So  I  went  to  bed — about  three  this  morning,  that  was— 
worn  out.  When  you  called  up,  Cindy,  I  fibbed  to  you : 
I'd  been  awake  about  half  an  hour,  howling  like  a  lost 
child  because  I  knew  that  Harry  had  deserted  me  at 
last." 

"But  how  did  you  know — ?  Did  he  leave  a  note?" 
"No,  dear — that's  how  I  knew.  He  didn't  leave  me 
a  note  or  much  of  anything  else  except  my  clothes ;  every- 
thing that  was  portable  and  easy  to  turn  into  money  he'd 
taken,  all  my  jewels,  everything.  So  you  see,  dear" — 
the  face  of  an  unworldly  child  quivered  with  a  pitifully 
sad  smile — "I'm  not  only  an  embezzler's  wife,  I'm  a 
pauper — and  a  friendless  pauper  unless  you  keep  on  being 
my  friend !" 

The  woebegone  voice  died  away  in  sobs,  and  with  a 
broken  cry  of  compassion  Lucinda  gathered  that  unhappy 
little  body  into  her  arms. 


XLIV 

THE  finding  of  Nelly's  body  crushed  beneath  the 
wreckage  of  a  motor-car  on  the  beach  some  fifty 
miles  north  of  Los  Angeles,  gave  the  story  of  the  Sum- 
merlad  shooting  an  extended  lease  of  twenty-four  hours 
only  on  front-page  space  in  the  newspapers.  In  none  of 
these  was  the  ownership  of  the  car  called  in  question; 
in  which  circumstance  Lucinda  thought  to  detect  the  in- 
fluential hand  of  "Mr.  Bellamy  Druce  of  New  York," 
finding  further  support  for  this  surmise  in  the  fact  that 
even  Bel's  name  came  in  for  astonishingly  occasional 
mention,  considering  his  active  part  in  the  aftermath  of 
the  affair,  and  especially  considering  the  civic  zeal  or- 
dinarily displayed  by  the  local  press  in  playing  up  the 
presence  in  "the  Queen  City  of  the  Sunny  Southland"  of 
personages  of  social  or  financial  consequence  in  the  East. 

Then,  since  the  death  of  the  unhappy  woman  had  de- 
feated all  hope  of  lurid  court  proceeding,  and  rendered 
piquant  exploitation  of  "wild  life  inside  the  movie  colony" 
an  open  invitation  to  actions  for  criminal  libel  as  soon  as 
Summerlad  got  well  enough  to  reckon  damages  to  his 
reputation,  the  cause  celebre  went  into  quick  eclipse. 
The  newspapers  of  the  third  morning  carried  brief  no- 
tices inconspicuously  placed  to  the  effect  that  Summer- 
lad  was  reported  out  of  danger,  though  his  complete  re- 
covery promised  to  be  a  matter  of  many  weeks,  and  that 
the  body  of  his  wife  was  being  shipped  East  to  her  par- 
fents.  And  the  affair  was  never  mentioned  more. 

Lucinda  spent  the  best  part  of  that  day  (and  a  good 
part  of  the  next  two  as  well)  in  the  projection-room  with 
Zinn  and  Wallace  Day,  her  new  director,  sitting  in  judg- 
372 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  373 

ment  on  thirty-six  reels  of  film,  the  accumulated  sum  of 
Nolan's  fumbling  with  about  two-thirds  of  a  picture. 

Not  that  such  extravagance  was  anything  extraordi- 
nary under  prevailing  methods  of  production.  It  re- 
mains to  this  day  quite  in  order  for  a  director  to  photo- 
graph between  fifty  and  sixty-thousand  feet  of  scenes  on 
celluloid,  only  forty-five  hundred  feet  of  which  will  ever 
be  revealed  to  the  public.  The  ordinary  photoplay,  Lu- 
cinda  learned,  runs  to  not  more  than  six  reels,  or  six- 
thousand  feet  of  film,  approximately  one-fourth  of  which 
is  devoted  to  reading  matter,  leaving  forty-five  hundred 
feet  or  less  to  carry  on  the  story  in  terms  of  pictorial 
action. 

The  more  than  seven  miles  of  photography  which  con- 
stituted Nolan's  legacy  to  his  successor  would  conse- 
quently require  boiling  down  to  about  one-twelfth  its 
length  to  make  room  for  the  third  of  the  picture  which 
he  had  left  undirected. 

This  monumental  feat  of  waste  had  been  achieved  by 
means  of  photographing  every  scene,  even  the  simplest, 
in  inordinate  length,  over  and  over  again,  and  from  every 
conceivable  angle,  much  of  the  time  with  three  cameras 
in  simultaneous  operation,  and  by  making  provision  to 
break  up  each  scene  with  close-ups  of  the  principal  play- 
ers heaving  their  chests  and  mugging  intimately  at  audi- 
ences as  yet  undreaming  of  their  treat  in  store. 

Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  Lucinda,  who  had  at  first 
welcomed  the  prospect  of  the  seclusion  which  the  projec- 
tion-room was  to  afford  her,  the  freedom  which  those 
blank  black  walls  would  insure  from  consciousness  of 
fleering  eyes  and  tongues  overready  to  whisper  evil  con- 
cerning her  relations  with  the  wounded  man — Lucinda, 
long  before  a  fourth  part  of  the  rough  footage  had  been 
unreeled  for  her  inspection,  began  to  find  inexpressibly 
tiresome  the  sight  of  her  shadow-self  mincing  and  simper- 
ing through  endless  repetitions  of  business  with  which 
she  was  already  conversant  to  satiety,  and  with  all  her 


374  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

heart  wished  herself  back  again  in  the  uncompromising 
glare  of  the  Kliegs,  where  at  least,  though  onlookers 
might  mock  and  mouth  lies,  she  would  have  work  to  do 
that  would  help  her  to  forget. 

As  it  was,  though  her  eyes  were  constant  to  the  screen, 
her  attention  was  forever  nagging,  her  thoughts  harking 
back  along  old  trails  where  heartaches  haunted  .  .  . 

The  lively  disputes  between  Zinn  and  Day  which  from 
time  to  time  interrupted  the  procession  of  the  scenes,  as 
those  two  debated  ways  and  means  to  cut  and  eliminate 
and  avoid  retaking,  contributed  little  to  the  relief  of  her 
afflicted  spirit.  Hourly  its  burden  of  boredom  grew  more 
nearly  insufferable,  toleration  of  it  more  seemingly  in- 
sane. 

The  business  as  a  whole  seemed  so  stupid,  so  puerile, 
so  hopelessly  inconsequential. 

Pictures!  her  very  soul  sickened  at  the  sound  of  the 
word.  As  if  motion-pictures  mattered,  or  whether  they 
were  good  or  bad,  inanely  done  or  cleverly.  People  went 
to  see  them  anyway,  paid  money  to  sit  goggling  at  them, 
and  incomprehensibly  dispersed  without  tearing  down  the 
theatres  which  had  taken  such  cheap  advantage  of  their 
confidence ! 

All  this  bickering  about  "saving"  a  production  whose 
asininity  one  esteemed  beyond  repair  as  long  as  one 
lacked  the  moral  courage  to  touch  a  match  to  its  inter- 
minable footage  of  footless  photography ! 

If  it  hadn't  been  for  that  last  quarrel  with  Bellamy,  if 
it  were  not  for  seeming  to  give  in  to  his  wishes  and  thus 
giving  him  more  encouragement  to  tamper  with  her  con- 
cerns, Lucinda  before  the  end  of  that  first  day  in  the 
projection-room  would  have  cried  off  her  agreement  with 
Zinn,  abandoned  the  production  then  and  there,  pocketed 
her  loss  without  murmur,  and  let  the  looks  of  it  go 
hang. 

But  still  the  secret  springs  of  vanity  were  subtly  at 
work.  For  her  own  sake,  she  insisted,  for  the  sake  of 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  375 

her  pride,  false  pride  though  it  might  prove  in  the  end, 
she  couldn't  draw  back  at  this  juncture,  she  had  to  go 
on  and,  if  it  were  in  her  so  to  do,  make  good  her  claims 
to  consideration  as  one  who  had  shown  at  least  a  certain 
promise  of  value  to  the  screen. 

So  though  she  shuddered  to  contemplate  the  weeks  to 
come,  she  steeled  heart  and  soul  to  see  her  picture  through 
to  the  very  end. 

Young  Mr.  Day  on  improved  acquaintance  appeared  to 
be  an  amiable  and  modest  person  with  a  fair  grasp  of  the 
rudiments  of  his  calling ;  and  presently  surprised  Lucinda 
by  proving  himself  the  "clever  kid"  that  Zinn  had  as- 
serted he  was;  immolating  himself  with  the  three-dozen 
reels  in  the  cutting-room  for  forty-eight  hours,  at  the 
end  of  which  period  he  emerged  with  an  eight-reel  edition 
of  Nolan's  unfinished  opus  which,  when  still  further 
abbreviated  and  publicly  shown,  ultimately  drove  its 
author  half-mad  with  chagrin. 

Upon  Zinn,  however,  the  effect  of  this  accomplishment 
was  to  dispel  altogether  the  gloom  in  which  he  had  been 
plunged  ever  since  the  attempted  assassination  of  his  most 
profitable  star  had  halted  for  an  indefinite  term  a  costly 
production  within  a  few  days  of  its  completion. 

Even  Lucinda  plucked  up  heart,  began  to  cherish  re- 
generated hopes  .  .  . 

To  the  weariness  of  those  days  wasted  in  waiting  for 
camera-work  to  begin  again,  the  visit  of  Harford  Willis 
came  as  a  welcome  interlude,  notwithstanding  the  effort 
required  to  show  him  an  undiscouraged  countenance  and, 
at  the  same  time,  the  tale  of  losses  sustained  through  the 
mismanagement  and  knavery  of  Lontaine. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  gentleman  of  early  vintage  knew 
nothing  of  the  Summerlad  chapters ;  and  it  did  Lucinda 
good  to  hear  him  growl  and  scold  about  anything  as  rela- 
tively inconsiderable  as  the  lunacy  of  throwing  money 
away — "like  water!" — and  then  refusing  to  set  the  ma- 
chinery of  the  law  in  motion  to  apprehend  and  punish 


376  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

Lontaine.  But  nothing  he  found  to  say  shook  her  deter- 
mination not  to  make  an  example  of  the  defaulter  at  the 
expense  of  his  wife. 

"The  poor  child's  been  made  miserable  enough  by  her 
marriage,"  Lucinda  declared.  "And  now  Lontaine's  de- 
serted her  she's  got  nobody  left  but  her  people,  who  were 
opposed  to  Harry  from  the  first  and  were,  I  haven't  the 
faintest  doubt,  to  a  considerable  extent  responsible  for 
making  her  life  with  him  the  wretched  muddle  it  turned 
out.  If  they'd  treated  Harry  half-way  decently,  when 
treating  him  harshly  couldn't  change  the  fact  that  he 
was  Fanny's  husband,  if  they'd  interested  themselves  to 
give  him  a  chance  to  make  a  comfortable  living  for  him- 
self and  her,  it's  more  than  likely  he  would  never  have 
dreamed  of  doing  anything  wrong.  Now  his  troubles 
have  driven  him  to  it,  I'm  not  going  to  add  to  Fanny's 
by  bringing  him  back  to  the  notice  of  her  family  branded 
a  thief.  Let  things  alone  and  they  may  make  up  their 
differences  with  her  ..." 

"Such  magnanimity  is  costing  you  a  pretty  penny," 
Willis  suggested  mildly. 

"It  isn't  anything  of  the  sort,"  Lucinda  pointed  out  with 
some  heat.  "Putting  Harry  Lontaine  in  a  penitentiary 
won't  put  back  in  my  pocketbook  one  cent  of  the  money 
he  made  away  with.  In  fact,  to  do  nothing  about  him 
is  the  only  inexpensive  way  to  deal  with  his  affairs.  .  .  . 

"Besides,"  she  added  with  a  shy,  sly  twinkle,  "what- 
ever this  experience  has  cost  me  in  money,  it's  taught  me 
something  I  would  never  have  learned  in  any  other  way, 
something  I  badly  needed  to  be  taught,  too." 

"And  that  is — = — •?"  Willis  prompted. 

"Shan't  tell  you.  I'm  not  sure  I'm  quite  ready  to  admit 
all  it's  taught  me,  even  to  myself." 

With  this  she  left  Willis  to  his  vain  surmises,  confident 
that  he  would  aim  the  shrewdest  of  them  wide  of  the 
mark. 

Otherwise,  she  found  irritating  the  open  gratification 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  377 

with  which  Willis  took  note  of  Bellamy's  neighbourhood 
and  drew  an  easy  inference.  But  he  had  the  wisdom  to 
refrain  from  mentioning  the  possibility  he  foresaw  of 
such  propinquity;  and  Lucinda  was  generous  enough  to 
imitate  this  reticence  and  spare  Willis  the  pain  of  hopes 
disabused. 

He  went  his  way  at  length  not,  everything  considered, 
dissatisfied  with  the  way  events,  as  he  read  them,  were 
shaping  social  salvation  for  the  young  woman  in  whom 
he  took  an  interest  so  genially  paternal. 

And  Lucinda  took  leave  of  him  with  dewy  eyes  .  .  . 
her  one  true  friend.  .  .  . 

Now  she  had  nobody  left  but  Fanny ;  and  she  was  com- 
ing daily  to  repose  less  faith  in  Fanny's  loyalty. 

She  was  feeling  very  sorry  for  herself,  and  very  lonely, 
and  when  most  in  need  of  friendly  companionship — that 
is  to  say,  when  she  wasn't  busy  at  the  studio — Fanny  was 
seldom  at  her  call.  Fanny  had  given  up  the  bungalow 
and  moved  to  a  residential  hotel  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
Wiltshire  district,  whose  accommodations  she  claimed 
were  cheaper  than  the  Hollywood's ;  pointing  out  that  she 
hadn't  anything  now  but  the  wage  she  earned  by  playing 
in  Lucinda's  picture,  which  wouldn't  last  much  longer, 
and  that  she  had  to  acquaint  herself  with  the  uses  of 
economy.  Furthermore  she  knew  several  picture  players 
who  made  the  Wiltshire  hotel  their  home,  and  they  were 
nice  to  her,  always  asking  her  out  to  dinner  and  the 
movies,  or  somewhere.  It  helped  her  hold  her  head  up, 
she  said,  helped  her  to  carry  on. 

She  employed  the  slang  phrase  in  its  late  British  sense. 
Lucinda  wondered  if  the  significance  of  its  older  Ameri- 
can usage  were  not  perhaps  more  applicable  to  this  in- 
stance. The  duration  of  Fanny's  love-life  with  Lontaine 
had  been  too  brief  to  keep  her  faithful  to  his  memory. 

Deep  in  Lucinda's  subconsciousness  an  incidental  recol- 
lection turned  in  its  sleep.  Somewhere,  sometime,  she  had 


378  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

heard  that  Barry  Nolan  had  a  bungalow  down  Wiltshire 
way.  Or  hadn't  she? 

At  all  events,  he  had:  the  address  listed  opposite  his 
name  in  the  telephone  directory  proved  that. 

After  a  time  she  ceased  to  suggest  the  little  dinners 
and  drives  and  minor  distractions  which  would  have  in- 
terfered with  Fanny's  social  commitments.  And  her 
loneliness  grew  more  and  more  wearisome.  Times  were 
to  come  when  she  would  almost  have  welcomed  even  the 
sight  of  Bel.  But  then,  he  was  away. 

A  week  from  the  night  of  their  rencontre  in  Summer- 
lad's  bungalow,  Bellamy  called — first  telephoning  to  ask 
if  he  might — to  tell  Lucinda  he  was  leaving  for  New  York 
the  next  morning.  Zinn  would  take  charge  of  his  pro- 
ducing interests  during  his  absence.  He  couldn't  say  just 
how  long  that  might  be.  He  had  several  matters  on  his 
mind  that  he  wanted  to  arrange  before  returning.  If  he 
could  be  of  any  service  to  Lucinda  in  the  East,  he  would 
be  glad  .  .  . 

She  thanked  him  quietly,  said  there  was  nothing  she 
could  think  of. 

Bel  was  glad  to  state  his  belief  that  the  Summerlad 
business  had  blown  over  without  her  name  being  even 
privately  whispered  as  in  any  way  involved.  He  fancied 
she  would  hear  nothing  more  of  it.  If  she  did,  if  any- 
thing unpleasant  happened  or  threatened,  she  knew  where 
a  telegram  would  reach  him,  and  upon  receipt  of  it  he 
would  drop  everything  and  hurry  back. 

Lucinda  thanked  him  again,  gravely,  professing  an 
entire  lack  of  apprehensiveness.  If  anything  did  happen, 
however,  she  promised  not  to  trouble  him ;  she'd  manage 
somehow  to  fight  her  own  battles  after  this ;  it  was  high 
time  she  learned  to  do  it,  who  had  a  lifetime  of  inde- 
pendent action  to  look  forward  to  and  was  unconscious  of 
holding  any  lien  on  Bellamy's  time  or  consideration. 

"It  isn't  that,"  he  stammered — "I  mean  to  say,  I  wish 
you  wouldn't  look  at  it  that  way.  You  punished  me 


LINDA   LEE   INC.  379 

more  cruelly  than  you  knew;  but  I  deserved  it  all,  and 
I've  no  complaint  to  make  and  hold  no  grudge.  In  fact — 
the  truth  is — I've  got  a  lot  to  be  grateful  to  you  for, 
Linda ;  you  cured  me  of  my  two  greatest  vices,  and  what- 
ever the  future  may  hold  for  me  one  thing  is  sure:  I 
won't  go  to  smash  on  account  of  either  wine  or  women. 
And  so,  though  I  quite  understand  what  your  feeling 
toward  me  is,  and  how  useless  it  would  be  to  ask  you  to 
forget,  I'll  always  be  glad  if  anything  I  can  do  will  serve 
in  part  payment  of  my  debt.  It  would  make  me  very 
happy  now  if  I  could  go  away  believing  that  in  any  time 
of  trouble  you  would  turn  to  me  as  to,  at  least,  a  friend." 

"I  understand,  Bel,  and  I'm  most  appreciative,  but" — 
Lucinda  smiled  with  a  shadow  of  sadness — "it  wouldn't 
do,  what  you  suggest.  I  hear  what  you  say,  I  know  what 
you  have  in  mind,  and — it  would  never  do.  After  what 
has  been,  there  could  be  no  friendship  in  true  sense  be- 
tween you  and  me ;  we're  neither  of  us  people  whom  half- 
measures  would  content.  And  since  we  are  as  we  are, 
since  with  us  it  must  be  all  or  nothing  ..." 

She  made  an  end  by  rising  in  a  manner  he  couldn't 
misinterpret. 

"It  must  be  nothing?"  he  implored,  holding  her  hand. 

Behind  the  mask  of  her  composure  Lucinda  was  ab- 
surdly agitated  and,  on  that  account,  a  little  angry.  She 
refused  to  admit  she  had  any  excuse  for  feeling  upset; 
she  had  the  upper  hand  with  Bel  and  meant  to  hold  it, 
she  had  nothing  imaginable  to  fear ;  yet  she  was  horribly 
afraid  he*  might  see  .  .  . 

"Good-bye,  Bel,"  she  said,  with  not  unkind  decision  but 
decision  unmistakable  for  all  that.  "And  good  luck.  But 
.  .  .  please  never  come  back."  .  .  . 

That  night  she  sobbed  herself  awake  from  dreams 
of  dear  days  dead,  and  lay  for  hours  hating  the  cheerless 
comfort  of  hotel  rooms,  missing  poignantly  the  intimacy 
of  her  home  and  the  sense  of  security  she  had  known 


380  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

nowhere  else.  Would  she  ever  find  such  another  haven 
for  her  drifting  soul? 

It  wasn't  that  she  was  in  any  way  hindered  from  set- 
tling down  wherever  she  liked  and  surrounding  herself 
with  possessions.  But  could  any  place  where  love  was  not 
be  fairly  termed  a  home? 

In  the  morning  she  rose  with  a  heart  as  heavy  as  any 
she  had  ever  known  to  address  herself  to  the  daily  grind — 
to  term  which  deadly  were  but  to  cheapen  the  detrition  of 
morale  resulting  from  its  wear  upon  the  soul. 

Yet  she  had  to  be  fair,  she  couldn't  pretend  she  had  any 
right  to  whimper;  she  was  having  her  own  way,  getting 
precisely  what  she  had  all  along  been  asking  for;  and 
viewed  at  a  purely  material  angle,  her  affairs  were  as 
prosperous  as  heart  could  wish.  The  new  director  was 
living  up  to  and  even  beyond  all  Zinn's  claims,  his  revi- 
sion of  the  continuity  for  the  sequences  remaining  to  be 
taken  had  been  as  adept  as  his  editing  of  those  thirty-six 
reels  of  pictorial  farrago,  and  he  was  handling  the 
crowded  scenes  on  the  supper-club  set  and  the  more  inti- 
mate dramatic  passages  staged  in  the  living-room  with 
equal  competence  and  the  ease  of  one  conscious  of  but  not 
self-conscious  about  thorough  mastery  of  his  craft. 

In  this  new  association  the  low  spirits  lifted  which 
latterly  had  oppressed  the  mercureal  cameraman ;  Iturbide 
chirked  up  amazingly  and  made  it  plain  that  he  looked 
upon  Mr.  Day  as  a  man,  a  brother,  and  an  artistic  peer. 

Between  Wallace  Day  and  Lucinda  there  was  no  fric- 
tion, and  under  his  sympathetic  guidance  she  felt  she  was 
doing  better  work  than  she  had  ever  hoped  to  do. 

Only  Zinn,  though  he  observed  with  every  indication 
of  pleased  approval  the  rapid  strides  the  production  was 
making,  was  known  to  wag  a  head  weighted  with  fore- 
boding and  utter  dismal  croaks. 

"He's  a  wonder,"  he  said  one  day  to  Lucinda,  while 
they  stood  aside  watching  Day  rehearse  a  scene  in  which 
she  happened  to  have  no  part — "a  holy  wonder  and  no 


LINDA    LEE    INC.  381 

kidding.  Every  so  often  in  the  fillum  business  a  miracle 
man  happens  like  that.  But  they  never  last.  It  can't  be 
done.  Stands  to  reason.  What  chanst  they  got?  If 
women  don't  get  'em  the  big-head  does,  and  if  they  happen 
to  get  by  with  both  them  drags  they  run  into  studio  jeal- 
ousy waiting  round  the  corner  with  a  blackjack.  What's 
that  the  feller  says  about  self-preservation  being  the  first 
law  of  nature?  Well,  if  you  don't  believe  he  spoke  a 
mouthful,  you  want  to  watch  what  he  said  work  out  in  the 
picture  business.  Any  time  they  see  a  bird  coming  along 
that's  got  something  on  the  rest  of  the  gang,  they  just 
naturally  knock  him  on  the  head  and  save  their  jobs." 

But  neither  the  promising  status  of  the  picture  nor  her 
growing  confidence  that,  when  it  was  put  on  public  exhi- 
bition, her  work  would  justify  her  pretensions,  could  re- 
vivify the  old  elan.  The  novelty  had  worn  too  thin,  its 
excitation  had  lost  all  potency.  Day  after  day  Lucinda 
went  to  her  work  without  enthusiasm,  and  if  she  left  the 
studio  of  an  evening  with  reluctance  it  was  solely  because 
of  the  desolation  long  drawn-out  that  she  must  somehow 
live  through  ere  she  could  look  for  sleep  to  bestow  a  little, 
brief  oblivion. 

And  even  the  hours  spent  in  make-up  knew  too  many 
pauses,  too  long  delays  spaced  her  appearances  before  the 
camera,  when  Lucinda  must  needs  stand  idly  by  while 
Day  drilled  others  in  their  business,  or  else  sit  solitary  in 
her  dressing-room,  waiting  to  be  called,  with  mind  un- 
employed but  for  painful  introspection  and  the  ceaseless 
cark  of  longing  for  old  delights  forever  forfeit;  till  dis- 
content frayed  out  endurance  and  she  learned  to  loathe 
every  facet  of  this  life  whose  whole  had  once  seemed  so 
enthralling:  smell  of  grease-paint  warmed  by  human 
flesh,  smell  of  distemper  drying  on  newly  builded  sets 
the  hot  smell  of  dust  that  scurrying  feet  kicked  up  on  the 
lot,  the  pungent  smell  of  sensitized  celluloid;  moaning 
orchestras  without  whose  strains  no  true  artistic  tempera- 
ment could  reasonably  be  expected  to  function  at  the  peak 


382  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

of  its  capacity,  sizzling  of  arcs,  the  magnified  howls  that 
issued  from  directorial  megaphones,  of  argument  and 
exposition,  instruction  and  command,  encouragement,  ex- 
postulation, denunciation,  rage;  clock-work  ticking  of 
camera  mechanisms,  distant  drumfire  of  automobile  ex- 
hausts in  the  parking  yard,  the  hammering  and  banging 
without  which  property  men  and  carpenters  never  are 
known  to  materialize,  the  unending  drone  of  babble,  like 
the  thick  rumour  of  an  off-stage  mob,  as  actors  strolled 
and  schooled  and  talked  about  themselves ;  the  restless 
phantasmagoria  of  painted  faces,  dusted  with  yellow  pow- 
der, beaded  with  sweat,  inhuman  enough  in  God's  sunlight 
and  in  the  blue-green  glare  of  the  Cooper-Hewitts  sicklied 
over  with  a  livid  cast  of  dissolution,  as  they  were  dead 
walking;  suffocating  heat  of  still  air  boxed  in  beneath 
the  glass-roofed  stages  when  the  sun  was  strong,  drifts 
of  chill  across  the  lot  when  evening  shades  closed  in  ... 
And  as  in  the  studio,  so  was  it  when  her  occupation 
took  Lucinda  abroad.  Many  of  the  scenes  which  had 
been  adjudged  to  need  retaking  were  those  staged  in 
natural  settings — "location  stuff."  These  Wallace  Day 
put  off  till  he  had  finished  with  the  supper-club  and  living- 
room.  Thereafter  Lucinda  had  for  some  ten  days  to  face 
the  camera  in  the  open  air.  Nor  was  she  often  able  to 
arrive  at  the  designated  spots  except  by  rising  early  and 
taking  long  motor  rides  alone,  which  she  came  to  hold  in 
an  aversion  scarcely  second  to  that  which  she  entertained 
for  her  nightly  welcome  by  that  emptiness  which  in  her 
rooms  made  its  abode.  In  her  seeing  the  groomed  beau- 
ties of  the  lowlands  had  lost  all  grace,  she  saw  them 
trivial  .  .  .  blurs  of  viridescent  tarnish  mottling  a 
blasted  waste  .  .  .  cracked  enamel  on  the  face  of  a 
senile  courtesan  failing  to  cover  its  wrinkles  and  blotches 
.  .  .  From  which  her  eyes,  revolted,  turned  ever  with 
a  sense  of  terror  to  the  inland  ramparts  of  bare,  seamed 
hills  that,  with  haggard  heads  stencilled  in  raw  ochre 
against  the  blue,  looked  down  upon  the  pleasure-lands  like 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  383 

a  herd  of  couchant  monsters  bound  by  some  old  enchant- 
ment for  a  time  to  make  no  move,  but  Aiding  their  day, 
a  day  whose  secret  was  hearsed  in  their  rocky  hearts, 
when  the  spell  upon  them  would  be  lifted  and,  rising  up, 
they  would  march  shoulder  to  shoulder  down  to  the  sea, 
annihilating  all  things  in  their  way,  all  puny  things  that 
lived  and  toiled  and  loved  under  that  remote  and  hollow 
canopy  of  sky,  in  that  fixed  and  brazen  grin  of  sun  .  .  . 

They  brimmed  her  moods  with  a  disquietude  formless 
and  irrational,  those  everlasting  hills,  yet  she  could  never 
keep  from  dwelling  on  them,  whose  heart  was  ever  yearn- 
ing over  them  and  beyond,  into  the  unknown  and  unguess- 
able  tomorrows  they  walled  away,  that  occult  destiny 
toward  which  she  must  turn  her  face  as  soon  as  her  work 
here  was  done. 

She  counted  hourly  the  tale  of  the  days  between    .    .    . 

The  hole  left  in  her  life  by  the  casting  out  of  Bel 
ached  now  incessantly  and  ever  more  intolerably,  since 
she  might  no  longer  drug  her  mind  with  that  infatuation 
whose  strength  had  departed.  And  she  knew  times  whose 
pain  was  such  that  almost  she  repented  having  lost  capac- 
ity for  surrender  to  the  anodynous  action  of  that  strange 
phase  of  love  which  had  so  nearly  delivered  her  to  Lynn. 

Today  she  called  it  strange     .     .     . 

Twice  she  heard  from  Summerlad :  on  the  day  follow- 
ing Bellamy's  departure,  a  pencilled  scrawl,  informing 
her  that  he  was  now  permitted  to  receive  callers  and  pro- 
testing his  impatience  for  the  visit  which  he  knew  her 
charity  would  not  permit  her  to  deny  him ;  and  four  days 
later  another  letter  and  a  longer,  bringing  proof  of  steady 
improvement  in  less  infirm  penmanship  and  phrases 
turned  more  carefully,  repeating  all  the  first  had  said 
and  calling  attention  to  the  venerable  saw  about  the  ill 
wind;  on  the  writer's  side  at  least  every  impediment  to 
their  marriage  had  been  abolished  .  .  . 

In  the  upshot  Lucinda  acknowledged  receipt  of  neither, 
but  for  two  mornings  her  waste-basket,  with  its  deep 


384  LINDA    LEE    INC. 

drifts  of  note-paper  minutely  scrapped,  bore  witness  to 
her  endeavors  to  frame  a  reply  at  once  final  and  not  too 
cruel. 

Better  (she  decided)  send  no  word  at  all  than  a  letter 
which  could  only  hurt  his  pride  .  .  .  •/  Lynn  still 
believed  he  loved  her  .  .  .  if  he  had  ever !  .  .  . 

The  talk  of  the  studio  kept  her  advised  concerning  the 
good  progress  of  his  convalescence.  She  knew  no  doubt 
at  all  but  that  he  would  as  speedily  get  well  of  his  disap- 
pointment in  her. 

For  her  part,  the  thing  was  dead  and  done  and  finished 
and  as  something  that  had  never  been;  the  only  wonder 
was,  it  ever  had  .  .  . 

One  evening,  as  she  was  leaving  the  studio,  she  met; 
Wallace  Day  on  the  steps  of  the  administration  building, 
and  learned  from  him  that,  making  fair  allowance  for 
every  imaginable  delay,  he  counted  on  making  an  end 
to  camera-work  in  two  days  more. 

Accordingly,  instead  of  going  directly  home  to  the  Hol- 
lywood, Lucinda  motored  to  Los  Angeles  and  booked 
reservations  for  Reno  by  the  night  train  of  the  second 
day  following,  a  slow  train  but  the  first  that  she  could 
feel  sure  of  catching. 

She  had  meant  to  keep  her  purpose  secret,  holding  it  of 
no  consequence  to  anybody  but  herself  what  she  might 
elect  to  do,  once  her  work  was  finished,  and  bearing  in 
mind  the  possibility  that,  if  news  of  her  intention  should 
by  any  chance  leak  out  at  the  studio,  it  would  find  its  way 
to  the  ears  of  Summerlad.  She  understood  that  he  was 
now  far  enough  forward  on  the  road  to  recovery  to  spend 
part  of  each  day  in  an  invalid  chair,  and  thought  it  wise 
to  run  no  risk  of  finding  out  that  his  improvement  had 
been  understated. 

Conscience  nevertheless  reproached  her  when  she 
thought  of  Fanny,  and  on  the  way  back  to  the  Hollywood 
she  instructed  her  chauffeur  to  make  a  detour  and  stop 
at  Fanny's  hotel. 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  385 

If  Fanny  had  no  prior  engagement,  they  might  have 
one  last  evening  together.  But  she  would  hold  back  her 
news  till  the  moment  came  to  say  good-bye  .  .  . 

Drawing  near  the  hotel,  she  recognized  the  conspicu- 
ously ornamental  car  of  Barry  Nolan  waiting  at  the  car- 
riage-block, and  as  she  bent  forward  to  tell  her  chauffeur 
not  to  stop,  she  had  changed  her  mind,  she  saw  Fanny 
come  out  of  the  entrance,  Nolan  ambling,  with  an  air  of 
contented  habit,  at  her  elbow. 

At  the  same  time  Fanny  caught  sight  of  Lucinda,  pulled 
up  short  in  confusion,  then  smiled  brightly  and  waved  a 
hand,  while  Nolan  rather  blankly  fingered  the  visor  of 
his  cap.  And  Lucinda  nodded,  smiled  in  turn,  and  passed, 
wondering  if  the  deep  colour  she  had  remarked  in  Fanny's 
cheek  had  been  merely  the  sunset's  mordant  comment  on 
an  artful  glow  of  pink. 

Well :  that  was  that    .    .    . 

Yet  it  was  long  before  the  picture  faded  of  that  girlish 
figure,  posed  prettily  in  startlement,  brief  skirts  whipped 
about  it  by  the  evening  wind,  with  its  gay  look  of  mirth, 
half  shame- faced,  half -impudent,  wholly  charming .  .  . 
sweet  grist  for  the  mills  whose  grinding  knows  no  rest. 

The  pity  of  it !  .  .  .  Or  was  it  ?  Had  one  the  right 
to  say?  The  mills  of  Mammon  grind  ever  but  free  will 
alone  keeps  the  hoppers  filled.  The  choice  had  been  with 
Fanny,  she  had  chosen  in  conformance  with  the  dictates 
of  predisposition. 

And  who  could  say  she  hadn't  chosen  wisely,  who  had 
every  gift  that  makes  for  swift  and  prosperous  progress 
along  the  road  she  had  preferred  to  go  ? — beauty  and  wit, 
ready  adaptability,  and  that  highly  developed  sense  of  self 
which  often  enables  the  worst  of  women  to  travel  far 
and  thriftily.  Idle  to  waste  time  deploring  that  she  had 
seen  fit  to  throw  herself  away  on  Nolan:  she  hadn't, 
Nolan,  though  he  might  never  know  it,  was  but  a  step- 
ping-stone, a  single  link  in  a  chain  that  led  to  a  far 
shore  whose  sands  were  dust  of  gold  .  .  . 


XLV 

WHEN  she  had  bribed  her  maid  to  observe  discre- 
tion concerning  her  plans,  and  had  herself  at- 
tended to  the  business  of  checking  her  trunks  through  to 
Reno,  thus  keeping  her  destination  secret  even  from  the 
woman,  Lucinda  felt  fairly  confident  of  getting  away  un- 
hindered and  unpursued. 

In  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  finding  she  was  to  be 
detained  at  the  studio  till  the  last  moment,  Lucinda  tele- 
phoned the  maid  to  take  her  hand-luggage  to  the  station 
and  have  it  put  in  her  drawing-room.  She  caught  the 
train  with  little  to  spare,  and  not  until  it  was  in  motion 
did  she  discover  the  box  of  roses  in  the  luggage-rack  over- 
head. 

Her  favorites,  Hadleys,  two  dozen  suavely  moulded 
blooms  of  deepest  crimson,  exquisitely  fresh  and  fra- 
grant ;  roses  such  as  Bel  had  been  accustonjed  to  send  her 
daily,  once  upon  a  time  .  .  how  long  ago !  .  .  . 

Eyes  cloudy  with  the  dreams  of  yesterday  their  breath 
inspired,  Lucinda  sat  a  long  time  with  the  open  box 
upon  her  lap. 

An  age  since  any  one  had  sent  her  flowers    .     .     . 

The  box  bore  the  name  of  a  city  florist,  but  was  un- 
tagged  and  contained  no  card  to  identify  the  donor. 

From  Summerlad,  by  any  chance?  Lucinda  didn't 
think  so.  If  Lynn  had  thought  it  worth  his  while  to  try 
to  win  her  back  with  roses,  he  wouldn't  have  waited  so 
long,  and  he  would  never  have  neglected  to  enclose  a  card 
or  a  note. 

No:  that  chapter  was  closed,  and  Lynn  must  surely 
know  how  wasted  would  be  his  every  effort  to  reopen  it. 
386 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  387 

In  the  end  Lucinda  concluded  that  the  maid  had  bought 
the  flowers  for  her,  as  a  gift  of  gratitude.  Wildly  fanci- 
ful as  this  hypothesis  might  appear,  there  had  in  this  in- 
stance been  unusual  provocation,  Lucinda  in  all  her  deal- 
ings with  the  woman  had  been  more  than  generous. 

And,  after  all,  flowers  were  plentiful  in  Los  Angeles 
and  among  the  few  things  reasonably  priced. 

Arranged  in  the  metal  catch-alls  in  the  corners  of  the 
drawing-room,  stems  bedded  in  wet  tissue-paper,  they 
made  a  brave  show  through  the  evening,  and  proved  rare 
company,  too,  trembling  with  eagerness  to  salute  Lucinda 
with  lovely,  friendly  nods,  and  drenching  the  dead  atmos- 
phere with  a  witching  sweetness  that  called  up  memories 
like  gentle  ghosts. 

Their  rich  yet  subtle  perfume  saturated  her  mood  and 
coloured  every  thought  as  she  lay  wakeful  in  the  dark, 
watching  the  ghastly  panorama  of  the  Cajon  Pass,  bask- 
ing in  unearthly  moonlight,  unfold  like  a  march  upon  the 
hither  side  of  Hell,  and,  later  on,  the  vast,  still  ranges  of 
the  desert,  where  tortured  cacti  entreated  Heaven  with 
frozen  gestures  of  torment  and  terror,  while  from  afar 
the  goblin  hills  looked  on  in  dark,  sphinxlike  disdain. 

Here,  linking  widely  spaced  oases,  where  the  pepper- 
tree  and  eucalyptus  shadowed  roofs  of  ribbed  iron,  and 
the  pineapple  palm  posed  its  graceful  fronds  against  the 
ungainly  bulks  of  water-tanks  on  stilts,  dim  trails  ran 
with  the  tracks,  and  ever  and  again  panting  and  bouncing 
flivvers  would  spring  up  out  of  the  night  to  race  the  train 
for  a  mile  or  so,  or,  less  frequently,  cars  more  powerful 
would  overtake  and  distance  it  as  it  laboured  up-grade; 
shapes  of  solid  shadow  hurtling  through  the  night  as  if 
breaking  their  hearts  in  hopeless  efforts  to  overtake  the 
fugitive  fans  of  light  thrown  out  by  their  lamps  .  .  . 
as  men  pursue  hope  through  life  .  .  .  as  women  pur- 
sue love  .  .  . 

And  Lucinda,  watching,  wondered  at  life's  strangeness 
and  its  sadness,  and  marvelled  at  the  mettle  men  are  made 


388  LINDA   LEE    INC. 

of  to  sustain  them  through  the  race,  though  they  know 
the  end  is  ever  failure,  heartbreak,  death. 

The  scent  of  roses  numbed  mind  and  senses :  pain  and 
opiate  in  one  .  .  . 

And  it  was  as  if  she  had  slept  not  at  all,  save  that  she 
felt  rested ;  as  if  she  had  closed  her  eyes  on  darkness  and 
unclosed  them  an  instant  later  to  find  the  very  scene  she 
had  been  gazing  on  bathed  in  hot  splendor  of  sunlight, 
warm  with  colour.  Still  the  desert  stretched  its  flats  of 
sand  and  alkali,  sage  and  cactus,  to  a  far,  notched  rim 
of  hills,  still  the  train  drudged  stoutly  on  an  up-grade, 
buffeting  the  hushed  air  with  stentorian  gasps ;  still  upon 
the  trail  beside  the  tracks  raced  the  motor-car  Lucinda 
had  been  watching  when  sleep  claimed  her  .  .  . 

Another  car,  of  course.  Nevertheless  the  coincidence 
was  surprising. 

She  lay  for  a  little  lazily  watching  it ;  a  powerful,  spir- 
ited piece  of  machinery,  well-driven,  breasting  gallantly 
that  long  ascent  about  which  the  train  was  making  such 
great  ado;  drawing  abeam,  forging  ahead,  flirting  deri- 
sively a  tail  of  dust  as  it  vanished  from  the  field  com- 
manded by  the  window.  .  .  .  Bound  whither?  upon 
what  urgency  of  life  or  death?  that  it  must  make  such 
frantic  haste  in  the  heat  of  the  desert  sun!  .  .  . 

Heat  was  already  beginning  to  make  the  tiny  drawing- 
room  resemble  a  cubicle  in  Tophet.  Lucinda  rose,  ran- 
sacked her  luggage  for  her  flimsiest  garments,  gave  her 
flesh  the  sketchy  sponging  which  was  all  that  facilities 
permitted,  dressed,  and  rang  for  the  porter  and  a  waiter 
from  the  dining-car.  While  her  room  was  being  tidied 
up  she  ordered  breakfast.  Before  it  could  be  served  the 
porter  turned  the  drawing-room  over  to  her  again. 

She  waited  by  the  window,  looking  out  upon  without 
seeing  the  few  rude  buildings  that  composed  a  tank  town 
at  which  the  train  had  made  a  halt  for  water.  After  that 
brief  respite  from  the  scent  of  roses  she  was  finding  rein- 
troduction  to  its  influence  overpowering.  It  took  her  by 


LINDA   LEE    INC.  389 

the  throat  and  subjugated  her,  reducing  her  to  a  most  mis- 
erable estate  of  nostalgic  longing.  .  .  . 

The  waiter  was  knocking.  She  started  up,  hastily  dried 
her  eyes,  pronounced  a  tremulous  "Come  in !" 

Bel  entered,  shut  the  door,  dropped  upon  the  red  plush 
seat  a  duster  and  cap  caked  with  desert  alkali,  and  stood 
apprehensive  of  his  welcome,  his  heart  in  his  eyes. 

She  fell  back  to  the  partition,  breathing  his  name,  her 
whole  body  vibrating  like  a  smitten  lute-string. 

In  a  choking  voice  he  cried :  "Linda !  for  God's  sake 
listen  to  me.  I've  been  up  all  night,  driving  against  time 
to  overtake  you  and  beg  you  to  listen  to  this  last  appeal. 
I  want  you  to  promise  me  not  to  go  to  Reno.  Not  yet,  at 
least.  Give  me  a  little  more  time,  a  little  chance  to  prove 
to  you  that  you're  the  only  woman  in  the  world  for  me, 
that  I'm  living  the  life  you'd  want  your  husband  to  live, 
and  have  been  ever  since  you  left  me.  Because  I  want 
you  back,  because  I'm  lost  without  you,  because  I  want 
to  make  you  happy  ...  as  you  were  happy  when 
you  first  loved  me,  long  ago  ..." 

She  lifted  shaking  hands  to  him,  cried  his  name  again, 
swayed  blindly  into  his  arms. 

"Take  me  back,  Bel,"  she  whispered.  "Make  me  happy 
...  Be  kind  to  me,  Bel,  be  fair  ,  ,  ,  " 


THE  END 


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